A Slavic Witch
by Swytla
Summary: LV has taken over Britain. His allies send him a gift: a priestess from a hidden temple protecting knowledge about immortality. LV wants to break her to get the secret, so he gives her to his trusted servant SS .But there is more to her than meets the eye. On HIATUS - needs EDITING
1. So it Begins

**A/N:** This is a rather short story which I would like to share, the chapters itself will be of similar lenght to this one – if you like the idea I presented here, don't fail to let me know. I will listen to your suggestions in the future, if you find something could be done or said better.

**Disclaimer:** I write for my own amusement and don't pretend to own anything from the HP Universe except my own original characters. Please be nice to them. ;)

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**Chapter One: So it Begins**

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It was the day Lord Voldemort took control over the magical community of Great Britain. The Ministry was in his hands, just as he had always hoped and aspired for. Even the fortress of his opponents – Hogwarts School for witchcraft and wizardry – had fallen and now lay before for him to do with it as he pleased. Had he the inclination, he could have remodelled it completely, but he knew such a task was unnecessary. It was the minds he wanted to change, the curriculum, not the walls that housed the next generations.

Severus Snape, the newly appointed Headmaster of the said school, was his most trusted servant and the one who would take care that the new era would begin in the classrooms. Those teachers who found themselves quite opposed to his rule had to bow their heads and listen to what he told them to do through his servant's mouth, if they desired to see another sunrise in their lives. Some were, unfortunately, not needed anymore and thus removed – permanently. Lord Voldemort was sure he was _almost_ at the end of the long journey to power. That is – he only had to take care of the remainder of the opposition, before his plans would be completed to minute details.

It did not matter that Harry Potter and his friends continued to evade him; he knew they would stumble across each other in the future and then he would finish them for once and all. It did prove to be quite a sport to toy with the Order of the Phoenix. However amusing it was, he was not a very patient man once he set his mind to something – he wanted them caught, he wanted to gloat and he wanted revenge for the years he had spent in the shadows, neither living nor dead.

His mind was distracted from the late failure of his followers to capture the boy and his friends by unexpected letters of congratulation from his foreign supporters for seizing the Ministry. One dark family in particular sent him intriguing news. He remembered them well. They were the ones who helped him on his journey to greatness, with tutoring in obscure branches of magic when he travelled the world. Voldemort was sure he could send them something in return – the Department of Mysteries should be in possession of a particular artefact he could send to them.

But what was even more important than his connection to them was their goal of centuries - to find the hidden temple of old Slavic gods where knowledge about immortality and power was hidden for generations. Only chosen ones ever saw the legendary temple grounds or stepped inside, swearing an oath to never betray the location upon the pain of their death. Even if one were prepared to die in order to reveal its secret, magic would silence them before they would utter a first syllable. This temple was thus the only magical place that had never been breached by dark wizards in the history of magic.

Now it seemed, as Voldemort read the letter again, that the first crack in its defences was found. Long had they searched and hunted down more information about the wizards and witches who hid themselves inside the walls to protect forbidden knowledge, to preserve the old ways and achieve immortality. A pledged-in priestess was finally captured and imprisoned. Voldemort was intrigued of the possibilities, but most of all, he was afraid of the time the knowledge leaked out. He was the only immortal in the world and he planned to remain the only one. He had no patience to suffer another Dark Lord – competition was not an option. The situation in Britain was tense enough as it was, he thought. He had to see this witch and learn more about her – he might even find her useful in defeating that Potter boy.

In order to get complete control over her knowledge, she had to be under his thumb or be dead so that no one else could discover her secrets. Before he could plan her death, however, he had to look inside her mind, determine if she might be turned to his side. How much he understood of the temple, she would probably never be able to return back. She might even kill herself to prevent betraying her fellow witches and wizards under torture. He doubted she would reveal much even then, which brought him back to the letter – they obviously failed to get anything out of her. No matter, he would make sure she would sing – they all did in the end.

Voldemort cold imagine she knew a lot about white magic – which he found of no use – and arcane arts – which he once again failed to find a particular interest of his. If the secret to immortality was not in her keeping, then at least he would find out where her temple was located and perhaps use its protections for his own chambers. Although the magical world feared him and his name, he was still pragmatic enough to know the Potter boy and his lot could still decide upon a visit. Or one of his would try to usurp him. It was a sad state of the world when people you trusted turned their backs on you, but he was no judge of the matter since he did that many times himself. He was a Slytherin after all – his desires and needs first.

As he sat down into his chair, his faithful snake coiling around its legs, he summoned some of the grimoars that contained the few bits of information about the temple and his guards. He had to prepare himself for when she would be delivered to him. He had a feeling she would certainly be no common witch – that she had survived the torture by dark wizards told a lot about her strength. It was a while ago that he spoke Russian, perhaps he should brush up on this language too; who knew what curse she might throw at him. It was prudent not to underestimate his opponents, as he had done with Potters. If he knew more about their rituals and magical protection practices, it would be easier to break them in order to break her. Besides, the Death Eaters needed a challenge or two - who was he to deny them to fail to impress once again? How the pureblood world ever managed to survive, he had no idea. Most were complete idiots or very near one.

A picture in one of the medieval initials caught his eye. A woman standing in a circle made with white chalk or salt was praying to a goddess with flowing white hair. A symbol at the very top of the drawing the praying witch made was something he had seen before. Something he was very familiar with… The captured priestess would stand no chance at all when she would be pushed to the floor to kneel before him. She would be a most amusing guest for his next Death Eater gathering.

'Yes', he thought as his red eyes narrowed to small slits of pleasure when he closed the book with a snap, 'meeting her could turn out to be quite interesting indeed'.

With determined steps he left the room to speak to his resident Potions Master – there would be some potions needed if what he just found out was true. The man would be quite over himself once he would see the recipe and the artistry it needs to be done perfectly. Snape was too stressed by the enormous task he was given. This should better his mood considerably. He had quite enough of Bella arguing with him even though they were amusing at times. Snape never failed to impress with his sharp tongue.

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	2. The First Meeting

**Chapter Two: The First Meeting**

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Severus Snape stood in the circle of Death Eaters in Malfoy Mansion. As far as he could see, everyone was already gathered – he had been running slightly late, which he could not afford since this meeting was very important. He really hoped the potions he had been brewing for the last weeks would never be administered. A cold feeling had settled in his stomach when he was given orders, but he dared not ask too many questions even though he was one of the most trusted Death Eater at the moment. Now he would see who would be the next victim. He really did not wish to be here since he was needed at the school and he had too many things on his mind already.

Lucius was still outside the room talking with Bellatrix about something. The blonde did not look too pleased as far as Severus could tell, but whatever was the matter he could not investigate. He was sure the blonde knew something, but it might be just that the oldest Malfoy was nervous about his diminished position among the ranks of Death Eaters.

The doors on their left opened suddenly and the Dark Lord entered in a swish of black velvet robes. Severus could still not feel comfortable when those red eyes focused on him, but his mask was in place since he arrived and not a twitch of an eyelash betrayed his nervousness. An older wizard followed the Dark Lord, dressed in a distinctive Eastern style of clothing. Severus Snape felt his collar tighten – foreign wizards were never a good sign, those from Karkaroff's country even less.

"Good, you are all gathered," stated Voldemort as he stopped in his designated position. Severus noticed out of a corner of his eye Lucius enter noiselessly with Bellatrix who moved forward to the Dark Lord immediately.

"I had wanted to share with you a most interesting and diverting gift from our supporters from Russia," he told them. "They were long searching to find a path into the legendary Temple of Perun and now it seems we are to share the honour of extracting it."

Excited murmurs and glowing eyes were the only response when the door opened again. Every pureblood and Slytherin knew of the legendary place. Severus could not believe his ears at first. He was positive he would had let a glass shatter on the ground were he to hold one. But since he did not the twitch of his hand was hidden in the folds of his long robes. No one could tell how this news scared him. His gaze was glued to the door where two foreign wizards came in, a woman dragged between them by her arms. Now he knew what those potions were meant for. Merlin help them all if the witch crumbled...

"Let me present to you Jasna, priestess of the old pagan gods," said Voldemort with his cruel voice, face twisted in a mask of evil when she was pushed to the floor before his feet. Her hands were bound together with rope on her back, so she could not catch herself when the momentum of the push almost propelled her to fall to the ground completely; only a firm yank of one of her guards kept her upright.

Some of the Death Eaters muttered and jeered, Bellatrix being the loudest of the ones who were overjoyed at the prospect of the sport to be had with the priestess. Snape was one of those who were silent, showing respect. All magic came from the old ways – Voldemort should have left her in peace. Messing with such powers always caught up with you one day and the results were not pretty.

The witch that was now kneeling on the floor was dressed in a dirty and tattered long dark robe that hung from her frame since it obviously belonged to a taller person. Her long dark brown hair was matted in some places – with blood and grime, noted Snape. Her right cheek was bruised as if someone slapped her. Everyone knew there would be more bruises on her body, if the blue marks on her wrists were any indication. It was clear from the slightly sunken cheeks that her treatment at the hand of her captors was everything less then stellar and it would get even worse. But still she stared into the face of the Dark Lord with clear and piercing eyes – challenging and demanding respect even when his prisoner. She was a fighter, Severus knew right away, but also a foolish witch. No one looked voluntarily into the eyes of the Dark Lord. Not when one guarded secrets.

"Well, my dear," mockingly said Voldemort when he saw her staring at him with no fear, no respect - this must have rattled the Dark Lord. "I know you can understand me perfectly," he continued, his tone most unpleasant. "I already know you would never freely reveal to us how to get to the temple, so I won't bother to ask. But you know - I am curious." Severus Snape knew what was coming next – Voldemort was like a coiled snake ready to strike. The witch was dead meat.

"Legillimens!" he hissed and the force behind the mental attack made her head jerk. She appeared to be frozen in place for a moment before her eyes narrowed in defiance as she countered the attack with all her might. Her breathing became more pronounced and it was clear the strength it took for her to resist the power of the Dark Lord was great. But then something happened they did not expect – suddenly ancient writing appeared on her skin like a shadow of a writing that had once been painted onto it in a ritual that gave her the power of a priestess. It was very faint but appeared to get pronounced with every second she fought against Voldemort. The Death Eaters began to cheer for their Lord, their lips forming words of encouragement in silence for they did not wish to break their Lord's concentration.

The Dark Lord appeared to have expected the resistance and the protective runes since his lips twisted into a triumphant smile once they appeared on her skin. The witch Jasna began cough, blood trickling from her nose because of the strain it took to resist the mental attack. The foreign wizard appeared to be worried, twirling his wand as if he contemplated interfering lest the Dark Lord kill her. Snape too could feel perspiration gather at his brow when she began to tremble. She could not break now, she could not betray the temple or the war was as good as lost. She had to remain strong, he thought.

But then Voldemort suddenly stopped the spell and she crumbled to the floor, her cheek resting on the cool tiles, blood running from her nostrils in a small stream. Her breathing was strained and she closed her eyes. Snape stepped forward and knelt beside her to check her over – he was one of the few who knew something about healing. When he got a nod from his master, he put his long-fingered hand on her brow to turn her face towards him. Just as his fingers touched her skin, a magical sting made him recoil in reflex.

The Dark Lord laughed, "I see you still have not lost your bite, priestess. Impressive how you can withstand the strongest legillimens, but I believe you would not be able to do so again once we remove your protections. Not even the gods can withstand our power," boasted the Dark Lord.

Severus saw her eyes open, hatred burning in them like fire when she turned them to the evil wizard who had just tried to rape her mind. "I too am curious," she stated, only a faint trace of an accent heard in her voice. The coldness was unmistakable – it was like an ice wind had swept through the room, "How did you fail to create for your immortal soul an immortal shell? You are still a mortal, don't delude yourself."

Silence reigned for a few moments before an enraged Bellatrix cast the first hex. Severus had barely enough time to move out of the way of a Cruciatus before it impacted with the priestess' shoulder. She let out a short cry before the faded marks flared to life with vivid brightness and the curse lost its power. She still writhed on the spot, but it was clear the intensity was greatly reduced. Bella was a master of this hex.

The angry Death Eaters stopped their cries and stared. Severus was sure it was impossible – no one could withstand the Unforgivables, but here this woman was able to manipulate one of them. It was most impressive. But would she be able to do so too when the Dark Lord would cast his own?

Loud clapping noise made Snape turn his head towards the Dark Lord who seemed amused with the events playing out before him. "Bravo," he said. "How kind of you to demonstrate the power of your people. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to make a performance of my own," said Voldemort. "Snape – the potions," he commanded and Severus had to rise up again and extract three small vials from his inner pocket. He said nothing, his eyes trained on the witch who was now recovering as Bellatrix removed the hex.

"Shall we?" asked Voldemort in his mockery of curtesies and Snape knew he was to be one of the people wo would administer the potions. He had to think quickly to decide which one caused the most pain and damage, so it would be him administring it – the will of the creator could greatly influence dark arts potions. He only hoped it would be enough to save her – he knew now se was too valuable to the Dark Lord to kill her immediately. She was a puzzle his master would attempt to solve when he would not be occupied with ruling the Ministry and fighting the Potter boy.


	3. Decisions

**Chapter Three: Decisions **

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The dark magic cursing through every fibre of Jasna's body lifted, taking just the edge of the pain from her. Blood still trickled from her nose and every muscle trembled with the lingering effects of the curse. But this was nothing new to her – she had been subjected to this particular curse multiple times for longer periods previous days, so the weakness seeping into her bones and the pain was what she used to keep her grip on reality strong and her wit sharp. Pain was almost a friend, a constant companion her entire life – but they did not know that and she could use this to her advantage. At least with this thought Jasna kept her spirits from sinking further into the darkness that beckoned with the promise of relief in eternal sleep.

The knowledge that even her elemental magic's protection was no match to the amount of dark magic cursing through her veins now caused her more pain that the physical scars she bore. She could feel the guarding hand of her sisters and the great priestess slowly drifting away from her with each passing day, each hour spent among their corrupted magical cores. Soon, very soon she would be all alone and drowning in dark magic that would slowly peel away each layer of painfully constructed protections. She knew that much from the connection the so-called Dark Lord had formed with her mind.

Slowly she lifted her head when a cold hand touched the back of her neck. The same dark man was kneeling at her prostrate form, his black gaze unreadable but for a small determined glimmer in them. His touch, amazingly, was kind on her oversensitive skin – she recognized a fellow victim of the curse in him immediately. Then another cruel hand grabbed her by the hair unexpectedly and yanked her head into an unnatural position. It was the Russian captor – she knew his heart was a blackest stone imaginable and she would gladly spit in his face if she had enough strength and vitriol to do so at the moment.

"There's no need to snap her neck!" bit out the dark Englishman with enough edge to his words that even the all-mighty Russian jumped in reaction. This brought a bitter smile to the shadowed corner of her mouth for one precious moment, before the cold voice of her new 'owner' made her focus on the present again.

"Bring her into a kneeling position," commanded Voldemort and two sets of hands manipulated her shivering form in into a heap on the cold floor, one gentle and the other bent on causing her pain.

Jasna could force her muscles to obey her for few moments – enough to look into the red eyes of the man so sure of his success she could almost taste his triumph in the air. "You will never break me," she spat and saw how annoyance flashed across his face. "There is no power in this world that can match the old gods," she hissed, "and I belong to the gods. No matter what you try to break me, you will never get my soul!"

A sharp slap across her already bruised cheek silenced her as so many times before. She should really keep her mouth shut and spare herself the pain, she thought, but the injustice of her situation forced her to speak up again and again. She would not, could not cover before so many of his followers gathered here – they should see that there will always be people prepared to oppose them. See the pride her people held.

"You will sing a different tune soon enough…" smirked Voldemort, not daunted by the poisonous glare she shot his way. His faithful Death Eaters loudly agreed, the mad dark-haired witch being one of the loudest among them. "Now you will see one of the legendary rituals performed for the first time on English soil in three hundred years," he announced and she could feel bile rise in her throat.

She could imagine several different rituals that could force her to betray secrets, weaken her protections or make her experience pain beyond anything on earth – each one more gruesome than the previous one. Her protections and powers were extensive compared to the general populace, but had clear limitations. Limitations, Jasna was sad to admit, that put her at their mercy.

She had almost regretted taking on the duty of a librarian at the Temple when she handled darker texts, but now this could prove to be the only thing that might save her or perhaps show her a way out of the dire situation. But all thoughts were erased from her mind when a familiar object was brought into the room and presented to her. Death or life – it did not matter anymore, Jasna thought when her eyes settled on the book wrapped in human skin.

"I see you are familiar with this work," said Voldemort, a small note of intrigue in his voice. He did not think the Temple held dark texts, but the recognition in her dark eyes before they turned unreadable again was confirmation enough. "No matter – it will make this even more satisfactory," he smirked.

Jasna was almost sure she knew what awaited her, but knowledge did not bring her comfort. In fact, fear and panic were mounting inside her as Death Eaters eagerly helped to prepare the room for a first ritual that would break her protections. She had to do something, anything to prevent them from succeeding. There was only one thing she could think of doing, but then she would be as good as dead.

"Now we will see which vows bind you to the Temple," smiled the Russian. The only thing that had prevented him from performing this particular ritual back in Russia was the knowledge he would have a league of highly-trained wizards and witches at his jugular if he tried. The ingredients are a dead giveaway a dark potion is being prepared and the number of informants high enough in Russia. In Britain, however…

Bellatrix was holding one vial with ruby red potion swirling inside in small spirals. The symbols on the floor that had reminded Voldemort of the ritual were done in a mixture of chalk and drops of a milky-white potion. All that was left to do was to administer the potion inside a cup filled with Jasna's blood. The knife was already held in the Russian's hand.

The shivering priestess was frantically searching for a way to do anything to protect her friends at the Temple. She knew that several of the vows and bonds she had with them could be manipulated. If she was to save them, the only option at this point was to use the ritual itself to sever her bonds, renounce several of the vows in a way that would make her enemies think it was the potion's work, not her own. But Jasna was afraid – if they found out, she was dead.

She clenched her teeth in order to calm herself, to force down tears of despair that wanted release. Now was not the time, she admonished herself. Renewed sense of purpose gave her enough strength to not flinch when the bonds were cut from her hands. Only now she became aware of the damage the ropes had done to her skin and she had to bite back a scream of pain when the knife sliced into bruised tissue. A small stream of dark blood slowly filled the silver goblet while the Dark Lord began to chant the incantation written in the book.

Jasna stared at the goblet, her own chant reverberating inside her mind. This was now a battle of two branches of magic, a race against time. She only hoped it would be enough, that she could manage to do the unthinkable. The Temple and its inhabitants were the only family Jasna had and now she was forced to give them up too.

The air seemed to become stifling all of a sudden and she felt like she could not get enough of it. Her lungs laboured and her heart strained to get enough oxygen to every corner of her body. Small dark spots danced before her eyes so she closed them in order to focus all her energy on the chant. One small mistake, even one mispronunciation of the old Slavic language and all was lost.

A hand settled on her right shoulder, making her open them again thus halting the stream of words for a few moments. The dark wizard was there again, holding the smallest of the flasks in his pale hands. One look was enough to know it was a strengthening potion often used to double the effects of other dark potions. Jasna was torn between cussing and sighing in defeat. It seemed the Dark Lord left nothing to chance.

Jasna's eyes darted to Severus Snape's unreadable and cold face. He saw the flash of fear lurking behind them and was now sure his decision was the right one – he would help her. She struggled hard against him and it took two men to force the useless potion down her throat even though she managed to spit out half of it. Voldemort was satisfied nonetheless, even when she let loose a string of less than flattering words to describe her jailor and tormentor.

"Soon, priestess," he hissed with the ugly smirk still playing at his mouth, "Very soon, you will regret your words. Do not think Lord Voldemort forgets such things…" he finished, almost nonexistent nostrils fluttering.

He motioned to Bellatrix and she poured the potion into the blood where it swirled and bubbled in a dramatic fashion. The final words of the chant were spoken, rattling her soul with the dark energy they called forth from the people hearing it. Death Eaters repeated the last line just as she hastily finished her own incantation, her own prayers.

'Forgive me', she thought after it was done and the atmosphere crackled with magic like the first warning of an oncoming storm. One lone tear slid from her closed eyelids before the magic lunged at her body. Screaming at the top of her lungs, the first of the bonds was ripped from her magical core. The torture began anew.

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**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I've got several things going on that took my time away from the story. Should update soon again, though.**


	4. Not According to Plans

**A/N: New chapters soon! **

**Leave a short note if you like the story; tell me what caught your interest or what bothers you about the style. Are the chapters too short? **

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Chapter Four: Not According to Plans

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The Dark Lord was satisfied with the powerful display of his magical prowess when the witch writhed and screamed like under the Cruciatus for several minutes as magic picked at her protections, her vows and magical promises. The markings appeared on her skin again, this time in the blackest of blacks, before the symbols swirled and seemed to be flushed from her skin in a torrent of black ink that spilled on the ground inside the magical circle drawn around her. The first part of the ritual was done – her protections removed for a short while in order for the potion to do its work and isolate her connection to the Temple.

Everything seemed to be going according to the description in the book – a myriad of colours appeared in flashes and spirals as the magical web covering her was being unravelled. A spelled quill was busy writing down the recognized incantations and symbols. A powerful magical bond that was isolated in a form of a glowing spiral around her body made Voldemort hum in pleasure. This was what he was searching for – a major magical line. The book said it demonstrated vows to a deity. No doubt the connection to the Temple would soon be revealed. Then the first anomaly occurred.

All of a sudden the glowing spiral collapsed in a shower of sparks that disappeared through the window in a wild torrent of glowing particles. Shattered glass was thrown at the wizards that ducked in instinct as magic leashed out at them. Wide-eyed and no little shaken, they turned toward the priestess whose hands were clutching at her chest in pain.

"Oh sweet Morana, take me now!" she screamed, praying to the goddess of death to stop her torment. Jasna knew that the worst was yet to come.

Then another line was awoken and she let out long wail that made even the most cold-hearted wizard shudder inside at the pain and despair it expressed. Her eyes turned hollow, empty when one part of the latest spiral still lingering on in a barely visible line finally blinked out of existence. A flash of weak light illuminated her kneeling form that crumbled to the ground, into the pool of black ink.

Voldemort hastily jumped to the book, recognizing something was not right immediately. The ritual was destroying her bonds not only revealing them for him to exploit! Snape too stepped closer to the magical circle, waving his wand in a diagnostic charm already, barking out orders for others to stabilize the erratic magic in the room. Time was of the essence.

"Nott! Bella! Form a circle, damn it!" he barked out.

Death Eaters who had some experience with unleashed dark magic jumped forward with their wands drawn. It was not a small amount of courage they showed by doing so – dark magic and especially strong rituals that went pear-shaped were extremely dangerous. If the Dark Lord had not shown desire to keep her alive, they would have left the room and sealed it shut until the magic would do its thing. Now, however, they had to fight it, had to save their own hides. Their goal was to erect a shield, a dome that would enclose the magic inside with the priestess whom it was focused to. The only one who could stop the ritual itself was Voldemort – the caster. He already held the book in his hands, turning the pages for the instructions that would stop or halt the process. He obviously did not expect any complications at all.

The web hovering above the priestess still flashed, strands continuing to unravel or knot together, but Voldemort paid no mind to them – he was more concerned about stopping the ritual before it managed to destroy all her connections to the Temple. She would be useless without them.

"My Lord!" cried Snape suddenly just as Voldemort seemed to have found the right incantation.

What alarmed the Potions Master was the sight of blood pouring over the rims of the silver goblet, forming a circle along the lines made by the white potion. The witch herself seemed to have collapsed, lying unconscious in the pool of black ink that slowly crept up her arms and legs while her own blood seemed to have taken on a life of its own, forming strange symbols and shapes on the stone floor. Was it only his imagination or did he really see it form a large eye?

Voldemort did not hesitate and quickly stopped the ritual with the incantation. It was just in time too or another bond might have shattered. As he bellowed out the last word, the glowing web disappeared inside her skin and the ominous dark magic disappeared through the floor into the earth where it originated from, only a small crackle along the dome evidence it was ever in the room at all. Lingering effects would be present for a long time, the space reacting to dark magic detectors and the atmosphere preventing everyone from staying too long in its presence, but that did not concern the Dark Lord. It was Lucius' house after all, not his.

Snape had jumped towards the unconscious witch as the ritual was stopped and already knelt beside the priestess, his wand taking readings when Voldemort stepped closer. "She is alive, but barely," said Snape at last and the Dark Lord closed the book with a loud snap that made Death Eaters cringe. An angry Dark Lord was a vengeful Dark Lord.

"What in Merlin's name happened?!" he barked and furiously looked around the room. It was clear _someone_ had done _something_ that sabotaged the ritual. He had followed the instructions and knew from his extensive experience it must have been one of his lackeys that fudged up this important spell, even though they barely participated. Unfortunately, nobody could say that and escape unscathed, so the room remained strangely silent.

"Who dared interfere with the magic?" he growled again, making his followers flinch. One cold look around the room later and a few shudders creeping down their spines, he turned his back on them.

"Lucius!" the shrill voice rang out in a command that could not be ignored.

The called wizard approached demurely, his skin appearing to be a shade paler than usual. "Yes, my Lord?" he nonetheless asked with a steady voice. Severus could imagine what his former friend thought about the entire fiasco. No doubt the proud man was appalled at the fact a dark ritual was performed in his house and on a priestess to boot. Several of Lucius' oldest ancestors were priestesses after all, as far as the legends went. Severus Snape was not sure how much of it was true, but Lucius Malfoy probably knew everything about them. The Malfoy's did brag about being one of the oldest magical lines in Britain after all.

"Prepare a guest room," said Voldemort, the chill of his words making the oldest Malfoy shudder minutely. "She will stay here, Lucius. Beware if something happens to her while under your care," threatened Voldemort and dismissed the Master of the Manor with one aristocratic motion of his skeletal hands. Malfoy bowed and scurried away through the nearest door, Narcissa following behind. Severus Snape was sure the proud wizard was gnashing his teeth at the offhand treatment, but since he was in disfavour he could not protest or complain.

"Everyone, leave," commanded the Dark Lord. Wizards and witches moved towards the door, not few quite happy to escape the irate master and the room itself. Those few who knew more about priestesses and old powers had misgivings about the treatment of the witch and were quite glad to get away as fast as possible. They were not sure if keeping their thoughts to themselves would have been an option much longer; a dangerous thing when near a Legillimens. But everybody knew their master would take revenge in the next few days. Merlin knew what would become of them and their designated places in the new wizarding world of Great Britain.

"Severus – stay," Voldemort said when Snape stood up and moved to follow them. "What is her condition?" he asked after a while when he turned to face the pale Potions Master. Snape stood at the edge of the pool of black ink, just a step from the crumpled witch. His dark eyes turned towards her as he formed his answer.

"The heart is weak," he said, "but will mend with a few days of rest and a strengthening potion. The mind should not be affected too much by the magic, I believe… I am not sure about her liver and kidneys though…"

"Is there something I need to know?" asked Voldemort as he crossed his arms. It was a sign to tread lightly, the wand in his hand a sign enough that he was still angry even though he managed to control his voice.

"I wonder what was done to her before she was handed to you, my Lord," said Snape. "I have a suspicion her condition was one of the causes to the failure of the ritual. Perhaps I should not have given her the second potion to strengthen the power of your incantation – it was too much for her body to handle."

"Explain." The command was given with narrowed eyes.

It seemed the Potions Master was afraid of uttering the truth since he moved his weight from one foot to the other, but in the end he told what the results of his readings told him in unmistakable ways, "We've poisoned her - - my Lord," he said, the latter part said almost as an afterthought.


	5. Strange Alliances

**A/N: Enjoy! :) I'm working on two other chapters already. It seems my muse came back from her long holiday.**

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**Chapter Five: Strange Alliances**

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Voldemort seemed to be surprised for a moment, noted Severus, before his brows knitted in thought. "Yes, you appear to be right," he said at last. The potions did include several ingredients that were rather toxic if mixed with wrong substances and the Dark Lord knew that. "However, she was not given anything that could produce such complications," he told the Potions Master.

"Was it some protective measure of hers, perhaps?" wondered Snape, who had a few ideas he did not wish to share with the Dark Lord.

"Perhaps," conceded Voldemort. "We will find out soon enough. Tend to her," he commanded and left the room with one glare at the unconscious witch on the floor. He had to find something that would tell him more about the Temple of Perun and their ways. The answer, no doubt, was hidden in one of his books or in the bowels of the Ministry. He wanted the Temple; he wanted _her_ to be a traitor against her will.

Snape nodded and bowed to Voldemort, glad to see him gone. As soon as the door closed behind the billowing robes, he knelt beside the body. His readings were not good at all and he told the truth when he said that she was barely alive. Perhaps it would have been kinder to let her die, he mused. Maybe he should have given her the activated potion and not the useless blob. It was still a dangerous substance and would only complicate her healing. It's presence in her system reduced the list of healing potions she could safely consume.

"Might not be so bad after all," he muttered; plans and ideas kindling at the thought before he focused on the poor captive.

'What is done is done – salvage what you can' he told himself firmly and waved his wand above her. The poison was slow-working so the major trauma was caused by the shattered bond and torture, he reasoned. Gently, Snape pried open her lips and placed a small bezoar on her tongue. It was better than nothing – he would have to raid his potions cabinet soon though.

The other door opened suddenly and in came Lucius Malfoy; his hair a little dishevelled which in turn told quite a lot about the mental state of the wizard. Snape nodded and carefully turned her on her side, brushing away the dirty strands to better see her face. Even in the embrace of sleep she appeared to be tormented by her personal demons. It was only to expected, he sighed in his mind.

Lucius crouched beside him. "How is she?" he asked in a whisper.

"Not good, I'm afraid. She'll make it though," was the reply. The bezoar seemed to work since there was a very small change in her liver readings already – this injury was caused by the potion then. He had no doubt her recovery would be long and difficult. Even the thought of it made him grimace. He had too much on his plate already - he could not play nurse too, but couldn't trust another with her health. Not even Lucius who seemed to be sympathetic to her plight. Malfoy was in disfavour and without his wand which made him a very poor choice of a protector indeed.

The blonde appeared to be relieved at Severus' assessment of her health though, no matter the expected long recovery. A warm blanket he held in his hands was carefully draped over her form. The ink that was still contained inside the magical circle did not touch it. In fact it seemed to have dried up.

"That will be hell to get out…" grumbled Malfoy.

"I doubt you will use this room in the future, Lucius," Severus remarked, but it was done without his usual sarcasm or bite. "How is Draco?" he asked, genuine interest in his voice.

"As well as can be expected," replied Malfoy and from the softening of the lines around his eyes it seemed he was glad the boy was ok. He loved his child even if some people thought otherwise.

"Good," nodded Severus, before he turned back to things at hand. He had to start her treatment. "Summon an elf to get her to the guestroom… and show me your potions cupboard," he commanded. "After her condition is stable, Narcissa could clean her up. We need to get her out of these clothes…" he sneered at the dirty and tattered robe hiding her form.

Malfoy winced, "I agree on that. Should I call for her right away?"

Snape grunted while tending to the cut on her arm and some of the bruises. These were easy to deal with after all. "I would appreciate her help with healing, if you don't mind."

"Malfoy inclined his head, "She shall follow your orders."

The elf came upon being summoned and handily transported the priestess to the bed. Snape and Malfoy followed behind. When Lucius inquired about the whereabouts of his wife, the elf informed him she was overseeing the changes made in the guestroom. "Follow me," he told Snape and led him to the cabinet where a wide array of potions was carefully stashed.

"This is the only reason I'm glad he chose your house, Lucius," said Snape as he rummaged through the contents, picking one or the other bottle and placing it on a platter he summoned from another cabinet. "These will come handy, but I will have to brew some that will be keyed specially to her in the next days. It is fortunate you keep such a wide variety."

"At least someone approves of _something_ I've done lately…" muttered Malfoy. Snape chose to ignore the comment and hastily followed the blonde wizard as he led him to the guestroom room once he determined he had enough potions gathered.

Narcissa was hovering over the witch lying on the soft mattress when suddenly a knock sounded at the door. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from exclaiming about the priestess' state when she was brought in by the house-elf. She sent one to answer the door with firm instructions to bar entrance if it was Bella or any other of the Death Eaters sans Severus Snape and her husband.

"Cissa?" Lucius' voice rang out from the other side and she sighed in relief. It would have been quite awkward to fight her own sister when it was her who kept Lucius prisoner in his own house. She motioned to her elf to lift the spells and the wizards stepped in, Snape moving towards the bed with determined steps. He deposited the tray filled with colourful bottles on the nightstand and quickly bent over the still unconscious witch.

"What is wrong with her?" she inquired with genuine worry as she moved into the strong embrace of her husband. To think that they tortured something so rare in this world! Every priestess was a blessing, a guardian of the old ways, of the origins of magic. Narcissa might have been a Black once, but she belonged to the Malfoy's now and thus supported her husband's opinion on the matter of priesthood and pagan gods.

"Her internal organs suffered massive injuries. Dark magic being forced into her magical core did not help matters much…" he told her without raising his eyes from the priestess. "I must warn you about the shattered bond," he said as he straightened and took the first bottle. "We do not know the repercussions of this act – it could be from hallucinations, paranoia to madness. I am sure about nightmares, though, so you should stock upon Dreamless Sleep."

The Malfoy's nodded and watched him wave his wand over the witch again. He measured correct dosages and calculated their timing, possible contraindications; before he took the first spoon in his hand and gently pried open her mouth. Quickly removing the bezoar, he carefully administered the first of the potions. After the third spoon, she seemed to wake up.

Snape supported her neck with his hand when her eyelashes fluttered and a soft groan of pain alerted him of the change. He quickly motioned to Narcissa and together they put pillows behind the priestess back and placed her in a reclining position. After he removed his hands she opened her eyes.

"Do you require a dose of a pain-reliever?" Snape whispered since he did not know how she would react to loud noises or his presence. He would personally hate anyone who would see him in such a vulnerable and broken state and would have refused treatment, but she turned grateful eyes to him; so, he measured a generous spoon of the thick blue potion -the only pain-reliever she could take due to other potions.

Her breathing was laboured once again since she experienced the pain of her various injuries, but did not let another groan escape her lips. He admired her for that. Snape nonetheless took the bottle of Dreamless Sleep and gave her enough to knock her out for a few hours. She was a patient in a state he did not wish to see ever again.


	6. Waking up

**A/N: Next chapter ;) Not much is done, but some useful information revealed. Next chapter should hold more in the way of plot and delve deeper into the evil intentions of LV.**

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**Chapter Six: Waking Up**

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Jasna was lost inside a darkness that coiled in magnificent spirals around her body. Somewhere in a deep recess of her mind she wondered how she was able to see them if utter and complete darkness surrounded her, but by some grace of her gods she could. And there was also a soft breeze kissing her skin, following the trails silky touch of spirals left behind. But accompanying these emotions was the feeling of wrongness, an urge to get away, to escape the hypnotising powers that kept her floating in this sea of black. Someone once told her to never visit this place – who was it?

Slowly, step by step, she managed to unravel the coils that were reluctant to let her go, push away the fog obscuring her vision in an attempt to lock her in a labyrinth with no escape and no centre and rip the web keeping her away from her goal. She did not even know the goal, but she followed the golden hair leading her somewhere – somewhere she ought to be.

A deep ache and throbbing pain greeted her when wispy tendrils of the webs broke apart under the force of her fingers. The golden hair seemed to disintegrate too and the last thought that lingered on in her mind for a few moments after she left that dark place was that it was a familiar colour of hair. More yellow than blonde.

She came back to consciousness in a room illuminated by candles.

For several moments everything was silent before a lone voice broke the peace, "Severus, she is waking up…" Jasna heard a woman say in a whisper. She tensed instinctively at the statement for similar remarks had brought her nothing but pain in the previous weeks. It was a signal to renew the torture until another merciful darkness took her under its wing. But somehow she felt wearier than after one of their sessions. Why couldn't she move a muscle without hurting or feeling dizzy?

A cool hand settled upon her brow and it was then that she noticed how hot she felt. "She is still running a fever…" muttered the dark wizard she remembered from the gathering. His voice was such one could not forget it. "Can you open your eyes?" he asked her.

Jasna was not sure how she should react to the question – should she tell the truth or lie? In the end, she decided it was best to face the situation than cover from it. Feeling completely boneless did not help her think either. Slowly, she managed to open her heavy eyelids and found herself looking into black eyes.

"Good," said the man and she turned her eyesight in the direction the woman's voice came from. So far, only men had caused her pain; having a woman nearby made her feel safer, at least in some small measure. "Try to stay awake if you can. I must make sure this treatment is working," he told her as he leaned over her form.

"I don't - - need your help," she managed to croak out and knew it was a lie as soon as the words left her tongue. Jasna was aware she was like a helpless lamb. The wizard seemed to know that too, if his frown was evidence enough. He said nothing in return though.

Jasna had hoped he would talk for the pain got only worse and thinking about something else helped keep her mind off it. The ache near her heart was impossible to ignore though, a banging and tearing sensation that howled and demanded attention. There seemed to be a gaping hole where once wonderful and peaceful feelings resided. The small tingling sensations were gone – ripped away – and the connection she had with the high priestess missing. Ever since she was given away by her mother at the age of nine, the priestess took care of her. She was a child of the Temple in every sense of the word and now felt utterly lost. Worse – she had done that herself, had renounced the sacred bond freely.

The memory of the torment hit her like a ton of bricks, taking the breath from her. What had they done?! What had_ she_ done?!

"No…" she moaned. "No! Sweet Zorya, it can't be!" she whispered for there was not much strength left in her to speak louder.

Tears started to pour down her cheeks unbidden and she felt herself sink into a sea of memories that beckoned with kind hands to embrace them. They will give comfort, they will wrap her into a cocoon of love until all that was wrong would be made right again. They will help her forget the present, keep her locked in the past that held smaller torments and less pain but so much love and beauty.

Jasna saw herself running in the big courtyard with old and young women and men hurrying past to start the day, hiding in the empty corridors, playing in the deep snow that transformed the forest to look like on the card she had from her family, and learning about her magic, training under the watchful eyes of her mentors and fellow students. Not even hands that gripped her hard by the shoulders could tear her away from despair and regret that bubbled beneath her skin and made her cling to the wisps of the bond that was lost forever.

The priestess could feel darkness gather at the edge of her vision, could feel something fester inside her, bloom and writhe in an attempt to fill the void. But it was not enough, it could never be enough and the empty hole demanded more, threatened to devour her all and turn her into that dark and cold place she awoke from before.

"JASNA!" suddenly her name was shouted with painful intensity. There also seemed to be an edge of panic held within, but she could not imagine what would make them react like this. Wasn't her corruption, the fragmentation of her soul what they wished and desired all along? Then why was he calling her away from the lure of that dark place where there was no pain and no emotions? Didn't she deserve to let go this once? To forget about doing the right thing and be selfish?

Something told her this lino of thought, these ideas were not her own. Something was whispering them into her ear. Before she could find out more there was another presence beside her; she could feel its power, the powerful intent that enabled it to come this far. It moulded around her and started to drag her away. She did not object but let herself float for a while. The presence was alien, not like the mind-touch of the high priestess. It was more angular, bitter… it was not feminine.

This realisation made her come back again. Men should not enter a priestess' mind – it was too dangerous for awakened feminine power was a force of nature that opposed the control men's magic consisted of.

Once again she was staring into black eyes, darkness still obscuring half of her vision. "Thank Merlin," Severus muttered and relaxed the grip he had on her face; his own was chalk-white, lips pressed together so hard they almost seemed nonexistent. He had been scared stiff when she seemed to experience the backlash of her shattered bond. He had never imagined it would be like this – a gathering of dark magic, a destructive force that seemed to pray upon her mind, trying to lock it up piece by piece until only a shell would remain. Using the legillimens spell was a leap of faith he took, but it seemed he was able to get through. Yet what he experienced while inside was something that would keep him awake for several nights. Such force, such unleashed magic and potential! The Dark Lord knew nothing of the old powers. She still had several seals placed upon her person and it was luck that they remained intact. Whatever the Temple was doing – it was dangerous and should not be meddled with.

"Look at me!" he cried when her eyes clouded over again. He could not loose her again because he was not in shape to bring her back – his magic was almost depleted. Snape knew he will be arriving back to Hogwarts by floo – a preposterous idea any other time.

It was then that a thunder of footsteps was heard in the corridor. Narcissa had fled the room when the priestess' magic got unstable, rushing for Lucius who slept in the master's bedroom. Severus did not know what Lucius could possibly do without his wand, but he was glad Narcissa got out of the way.

Jasna focused on him and seemed to calm down her erratic magic. Every glass item in the room had nonetheless cracked from the distress she channelled through her powers. "It hurts… it hurts so much…" she groaned. "Help me…" she pleaded.

"Lucius – three spoons of pain-relief," commanded Snape while still holding her face with his hands. She had to calm down, she had to sleep and gather strength, let her own powers knit together the wounds. There would be scars – invisible as they may be – but what the Dark Lord destroyed could never be mended again. In some way she reminded him of his younger self. He will never experience what others called normal life - life without the Mark and dark magic - and she will never be able to live fully when removed from the Temple and its teachings. Both carried marks that no magic of the world could ever wipe away completely.

"Sleep," he told her and she followed his command. Snape only hoped that a solution to her problems would present itself soon. He could not spare a moment of his precious time on her much longer.


	7. I Give Her to You

**A/N: Here's the next chapter. It's getting interesting... ;)**

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**Chapter Seven: I Give Her to You**

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Three days passed and Jasna's condition got better – at least that could be said about her body. The internal and superficial wounds mended but her mind and magic refused to cooperate and heal according to Snape's expectations and plans. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy took great care of the helpless priestess he had to admit, even though they knew little of healing and especially not enough about wounded magical cores and souls.

Snape was more than satisfied with other aspects of healing, but no change even after three days and various potions later began to worry even his confident mind. Yes, her healing was expected to be long and difficult, but not impossible. They had to keep her dosed with a wide range of potions since the pain of the broken bond did not lessen with time and he could not let her get lost inside her violent magic. In the few moments of lucidity, she prayed in an old form of some Slavic language used in medieval times, but Lucius suspected it was an even older dialect. It seemed to help her, but the pain won every time.

In the end, Severus Snape had to admit to the Dark Lord that he was at his wits' end. The conversation was dangerous and awkward, but he came out of the room with limbs intact despite his failure. At least he gave the Dark Lord a puzzle to solve and there were not many that would interest the darkest of wizards. Thus Severus Snape remained one of the highest ranking Death Eaters despite having no idea what to do with her.

"Do you think the Dark Lord will find a solution soon?" asked Malfoy as they lingered outside the guestroom after another hard session. The blonde looked done in and Severus too had to admit that the raw magic she wielded was not something he wished to fight on a daily basis. His frequent absences from Hogwarts were already noticed and the atmosphere among the staff turned rebellious, which was something he could not ignore or condone this close to the start of term. Children would arrive in just a few days and he had to have complete control over the school by that time. But he was left weary after fighting down Jasna's magic and in no condition to fight yet another battle once he returned back. But they could not keep her sedated much longer for the same number of hours – it could kill her.

"Yes, he wants the Temple," answered Snape, "and he went through the Ministry archive in the Department of Mysteries, if I can believe Bella."

Before Malfoy could invite him to continue their conversation in his study with a glass of fine brandy, they heard the sound of apparition in the entrance of Malfoy Manor. Only one person announced his presence in this unmistakable way – it was lord Voldemort.

The two weary wizards exchanged a look and turned towards the stairs immediately. As they descended, Narcissa could be heard greeting the guest. But Voldemort was apparently not in the mood for pleasantries for he cut her mid-sentence with a question, "Severus is still here, is he not?"

"Yes, my Lord. I have just stabilised her," answered Severus Snape as he stepped down from the last stair and bowed.

"Excellent!" said Voldemort and other occupants of the room could feel a shiver run down their spine. It was never good news when the Dark Lord was happy or satisfied – it usually meant something disturbing was about to happen. And these three had enough of disturbing things the last few days.

Voldemort turned towards the room where the ritual had been performed and Snape caught up with him in few long strides that made his robes billow. He could not decide what to think of the destination and settled upon keeping his face blank. However, he really did not desire to set foot in that cursed place again.

"I have found out something quite interesting," said Voldemort as he opened the door with a wand-less spell that made the doors thump loudly against the walls. Snape said nothing, wincing internally at the noise and the ominous feeling he got from the room. Few wizards knew the power they wielded had a mind of its own, but one look inside the room would be enough to convince even the greatest sceptics.

Voldemort stood outside a moment longer as if savouring the change that could be felt at the threshold. When he stepped inside the magic swirling almost invisibly above the black circle rushed to the door to sniff at the intruder like a hungry dog. A few moments later it seemed to recognize Voldemort as a fellow dark being and settled down again – at least partially. But the malevolent feeling coming from the cloud of freed magic was not a good omen for anyone stepping inside its domain.

Snape was weary of trusting it and following the Dark Lord, not knowing if the magic would feel the same about him. It was a difficult situation – he had to be recognized as evil yet at the same time needed proof that he was able to redeem his soul and make up for his past mistakes. How could a man who pretended to be evil, but was good deep down, ever pass this test? What would happen if the magic rejected him? It was a living entity now, freed from the bonds that had pushed it deep into the earth, and as such highly unpredictable.

Snape cursed internally, fortifying his occlumentic shields, then stepping in too, his nerves a wreck. It was too early for this…

The magic rushed at him, coiling at his legs, catching the fabric of his coat and licking at the skin of his face. It was the most unsettling feeling he had ever experienced; it was like someone prodded at his most personal corners of his mind and taking no care to be gentle. He could feel his Mark tingle at the touch, feel invisible strings and bonds being stretched… the strain of keeping himself and his magic together left his breathing strained and sweat gather at his brow.

_Dark child… _he heard whispered in a woman's voice that struck a chord inside his heart. He had heard that voice in his dreams lately…

_Poison… _said a man and Snape could feel the icy touch of a potion he once prepared for Lord Voldemort. Yes, he had brewed poisons many times before, he admitted. But not lately, his mind added unwittingly.

_Without intent…_ whispered the female again and Snape felt something had changed in the way magic felt about him, like something clicked in place. How he knew that, he was not sure, but the feeling he got from the cloud of raw magic changed – just a minute shift, barely discernable.

It felt like forever before the magic left him and settled like a guardian above the ink and spilled blood. The crackling coming from it settled down. Snape opened his eyes to look at the satisfied face of his master who had watched carefully. He was still alive and well. Severus Snape quickly pushed any thoughts aside and concentrated on the present; he would have time enough to ponder about the surprising event later - probably with a full glass of something stronger than black tea.

"Come, my trustworthy servant," said Voldemort as the door closed behind them with a snap, leaving the Malfoys in the hall.

Snape did not know what had just happened, but apparently the magic had let him enter. It was not clear if he was considered more evil than good (for he knew he would never be considered a white wizard), but Voldemort was satisfied with his performance. And that was the important thing.

"What have you found, my Lord?" he asked as if dealing with wild magic was everyday occurrence.

Voldemort smiled, "It seems there are things we never knew about the way priestesses are sworn into service. The records on the temple of Brigid were most informative." He went to the pool of ink and the glowing drops of the potion spilled around it. The overturned cup of blood still lay where it had been placed on the ground and Voldemort stepped over it on his inspection of the ritualistic circle. "Did you know that they pledge their lives, their bodies to the Temple in a ceremony similar to old feudal oaths wizards gave to their lords?"

"I did not, my Lord," answered Snape truthfully. He knew of the power priestesses wielded and their role in the present, but nothing of their culture and rituals. Whatever he had learned of their history and the role they played in the formation of the magical communities had been enough to fill him with respect and awe. But this was interesting…

"I have found a way to _heal_ her," said Voldemort. "But I will need someone I can trust – someone that will corrupt her through a bond he will forge with her. Do I have such a man among the Death Eaters?" he asked.

"You have, my Lord," answered Snape. She would be furious, but if forcing her to pledge her obedience to him would keep her away from the Death Eaters and Voldemort, so be it. The Temple would be safe and he could fulfil Dumbledore's plan with her tucked away at Hogwarts.


	8. One Hour

**A/N: As promised, the next chapter :D**

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Chapter Eight: One Hour

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Everything was prepared for the ceremony that would bind the priestess to Severus Snape. The room where she was tortured before was to become a place where she would be reborn into the Death Eaters society. According with this only the inner circle was invited to witness how the recovering witch would be shackled to Voldemort's right hand. Once again the Dark Lord surprised with his knowledge of dark arts and willingness to bend the rules.

Severus would have liked to wait a few days, give her magical core time it needed to get rid of dark magic for this was the only progress that could help her protect her secrets. Some of the changes he was privy of alarmed him and he doubted there was 'healing' of any kind present in the ceremony at all. Voldemort wanted access to her mind, but did not desire to sacrifice his precious time on her – it was clear that the protections she had would unravel only after months of slow poisoning of her magic and soul. Such work was best given to someone like him – a potions master who was used to wait for potions to mature in their own time.

_I should be grateful the Dark Lord has no patience for this – but I fear she will only bring more complications to Hogwarts. How will I run the school, take care of Potter and guard my secrets if she is to stay in my quarters? She will hate me with a passion…_

Snape knew from the short conversations with Voldemort that the binding was intended to nullify her other pledges sustaining her protections. The new bond was supposed to knit together the wound left from the one they've broken, but such healing was dubious at best – one could not patch up souls like a piece of china. It was possible that the ceremony could be the last blow that would turn her into Alice and Frank Longbottom – her condition was unstable enough and the forces raging inside her too strong to meddle with. And there was also the problem of the freed magic residing over her blood…

Severus was afraid of it and the dreams one touch brought him the next day. He had awoken in cold sweat, a scream on his lips that he barely managed to hold in. It would have been highly unprofessional if a rumour were to leak that he was having nightmares… But the dreams spoke of pain and darkness, feeling lost and alone… yet there was always a woman's voice, the voice he had heard inside the wild magic, a lingering whisper in Jasna's mind… it was reciting a scripture he did not recognize.

It was this that worried him the most – what if the wild magic would try to take over Jasna? What if it saw her as a vessel to break out of the room? It certainly had a mind of its own… After a second thought, Snape was convinced Voldemort chose the room precisely because of this. It was possible he wanted to bind the wild magic inside the bond and tame it for his purpose. After all, freed magic was nothing but trouble and very rare in England because it could not be controlled once it gained power.

However dangerous it might be, this ceremony was Jasna's only chance at healing and Severus the only man that would not use the bond to torment her – he knew only too well how it felt to be a puppet in the hands of two masters. Since it was a combination of oaths of fealty and marriage bindings of old, it was highly potent and as such able to render her without a will of her own. It was almost like an Imperio and that worried him.

Severus still hoped she would gather her wits like before and do something to avoid this possible future. He could do very little to help her at the ceremony and any deviation on his part later on would be easily discernable to the dark Lord. He could not let her work against the Death Eaters even if an ally of her calibre would have been most welcome. But Severus doubted anyone outside the Temple was capable of controlling her now. She was unstable, unpredictable like the magic her broken bond freed…

_If only she was never found and captured…_

Severus expected her to stay loyal to the Temple, nothing more. He had no illusions of convincing her to join the Death Eaters or the Order of the Phoenix – as if he could reveal himself as a spy to a person that was most likely to think the worst of him! He planned to involve her as little as possible in his business and the school. She was to remain in the rooms he would decide she was safe to wander and stay out of his hair. She was just another victim of the Dark Lord's reign of terror and nothing more. It was also too dangerous to trust her and his position in this game of chess far too important to take risks. Jasna had not been broken by torture, but harnessed her pain and anger to fight back. These were the qualities of a person that did not give in, who fought just of the sake of fighting, defying those who wished to crush them. Who knew what she was capable of?

_If only she could become an ally…_ sighed Severus Snape.

Seeing her condition every day and combining that with the impression he got of her before, he formed his own conclusions and ideas. He had a suspicion Jasna knew very well that the ritual would have succeeded and she interfered – how, he had no idea, but the power raging inside her mind could be used in desperate times. And she was a priestess – an expert in ancient lore. If not she then who could have known what to do to stop the ritual? But she would be in no shape to do so again, he reminded himself.

The big clock in the hall struck the full hour and Snape moved his gaze from the spots of light on the carpet to the mantelpiece. The ceremony was to take place in exactly one hour. He was prepared, but Jasna was yet to be told about the next torture.

Severus slowly stood up from the armchair and moved to the window. The first of the inner circle were seen arriving, the glow of the setting sun painting them in rich reds and purples. These vultures would gather in the dining room while he was expected to remain removed from them until the beginning. He had performed the required cleansing ritual in the morning – the only thing the Dark Lord could not change or give a little twist in this whole affair. _Perhaps he learned something from last failure…_

He turned on his heals and strode purposefully to the door. One look at the mirror in the hall reminded him why he had secluded himself in the room - the set of white robes he was required to wear until the ceremony looked ridiculous on him. Black was his colour – it suited his mood, it suited his reputation. _This_ was something Albus Dumbledore would pull off nicely.

The sound of footsteps approaching made him disappear up the staircase. It was time to see if Narcissa was finished with Jasna anyway. The priestess was too weak to take a bath or to walk by herself most of the time. A tentative truce had been formed between the women, so Narcissa was the only one that the priestess let close to when awake. Thus it was the blonde witch who took care of Jasna most of the time and Severus and Lucius only interfering when her magic got out of control. Severus hoped they were finished with the preparations and that the potions he gave Mrs. Malfoy helped.

As he stood before the closed door of the guestroom, listening for the sounds of activity inside, he wondered what the year would bring to the Malfoys. The Dark Lord had placed Lucius under house arrest, Bella was given free reign of the house more often as of late and the general atmosphere was brimming with tension and darkness ever since the ritual. This was no place to live in any more.

_I'd sell the house once this is all over…_ he thought bitterly. But since Severus Snape did not know what would happen in an hour, he decided to relinquish any thoughts of plans and most of all those of other people. Firmly knocking on the wooden door, he called, "Narcissa? Are you finished?"

A muffled answer was heard a few moments later, so he stepped in. The wards recognized him, but even if he were an intruder, the present elves would have transported him away immediately. He did not spare a look on the small beings and moved to inspect the potions flasks – the amount of pain-relief administered was getting smaller, but the Dreamless Sleep was as high as ever.

"Do you have something against the fever?" asked Narcissa when she appeared from the adjoining bathroom to pick up a few things from the chest of drawers, "It's returned," she whispered worried.

"How bad is it?" Severus asked with a frown.

"It's not dangerous, but the little strength she has is getting sapped," told the worried witch as she straightened the satin ribbons in her hands with nervous hands. "You know she can't fight the pain and the fever at the same time… couldn't we wait another day?"

Severus shook his head but knew Narcissa was only trying to buy time to be free of any blame on her part were something to go wrong again. When faced with the choice of saving a stranger (no matter how important and special) and saving her family, she would do like any other mother and choose her son and husband.

She sighed in resignation, "Is she really strong enough to get through this again?"

"Let us hope for her sake that she is," he told her.


	9. Bitterness

**A/N: The next chapter truly moves into action, so I expect they will both get to Hogwarts soon. Can you imagine the reactions of other professors? :D**

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Chapter Nine: Bitterness

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Cool hands touched Jasna's feverish brow as she tried to stop the room from spinning. She had barely managed to get a hold of the tub and collapse into the nearby chair where she tried to gather her wits together. _Just a few moments longer and the mad thumping of my heart will settle down, possibly taking with it the start of another headache_, she told herself as she kept her eyes closed tightly.

"Can you stand up?" murmured the English witch and Jasna nodded slowly. She blindly reached out with her shivering hand for hold and felt a bigger and calloused one close around hers.

"Let's get you to the bed…" muttered the dark wizard before she could protest. He reached with his other hand around her shoulders and carefully manoeuvred her to the room despite her resistance. It was when she grabbed a fistful of his robes that Jasna finally noticed he was wearing white – an interesting set of white robes that were too similar to the design she was wearing to make her feel comfortable. A realisation dawned in her mind – she had been wondering what made them clean her up again without the use of spells.

"What is going on?" she asked in a sharp whisper when he sat her down on the bed. "What madness have you planned?!" she demanded, the headache flaring to life at her fury as she tugged at his robes. She could recognize ceremonial or ritualistic garb anywhere – she had known her recovery, albeit very slight, would bring her nothing good.

They remained silent, the witch appearing to be a tad bit uncomfortable with her role in the entire situation, but the wizard yanked the sleeve from her grasp and turned his dark eyes to hers, unreadable as ever. Jasna could feel the darkness inside her rise up, howling for attention as always, trying to fill the empty spots in her magic. She viciously fought it down even if it meant subjecting herself to pain. Anger was not something she could use in her condition, but neither was sadness, pain or any emotion at all – the darkness twisted it every time to call forth the most horrible points of her life.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" he asked from the position at the table with the potions and she could have smacked him were her hands not shaking so much. As it was, Jasna could only grind her teeth and look at him in fury. Yes she was in pain, breaking sacred oaths and renouncing one's bonds did that to a witch.

Jasna could fell heat gather at her cheeks and knew she was flushed both from the fever and anger. If only she were strong enough, if only she had been able to run away that day – but no, she couldn't had let an innocent child be a victim, not when she had given her vows to do everything in her power to help the ones who could not protect themselves. Oh yes, she had known it was a trap of some sorts, but didn't know it was meant to capture her. She had foolishly believed they were after something else, not the Temple. She didn't even have her insignia on her! How did they know?

Severus Snape inspected her for any signs of weakness or pain and it was clear Jasna suffered. The pain was reflected in her face, eyes and dark smudges beneath, tremors of her hands… Even the fever became noticeable. But still she possessed that will of iron that got her through to this day. Fire burned in her brown eyes, a fire that could swallow the Dark Lord and spit him out turned into ash. How stupid he was to underestimate her… she was far from defeated.

"I will give you some privacy…" muttered Narcissa before she figuratively fled the room. She got scared once sparks began to fly along the walls when Severus locked his gaze with the angry priestess. She better call Lucius or better yet the Dark Lord.

"What do you have to say to defend yourself - - poison-brewer?" spat out Jasna and the crackling of her unstable magic gave her the aura of a vengeful fairytale character. It was quite impressive really, but Severus knew how weak she was physically. She could not scare him so easily.

"Nothing," he nonetheless replied truthfully as if he were a faithful follower of the Dark Lord. There _was_ nothing he could say to reduce his guilt or responsibility for anything he had done for the Death Eaters or Albus Dumbledore. And he certainly was never going to apologize to anyone, lest of all to her who had no idea what he went through and what danger still awaited him.

"Not a shred of pity in you? Remarkable…" she drawled, ice once again heard in her voice that threatened to chill even him with the bitterness it contained inside, "Astounding how one man, one wizard managed to rid you of your hearts, your minds. No backbone, the lot of you…" she seethed and Severus could agree with her on some points. Many followers _were_ spineless and even more of them showed no mercy, but _he_ was not one of them. Still, the accusations rankled, so he frowned and stepped closer in most menacing fashion he could manage while dressed in white.

"I would be careful with that tongue of yours. My wand arm is itching…" he threatened. He had helped her, but she would learn to respect him soon or face the consequences. He may be on her side secretly but that did not mean he would not give as good as he got. He had never been a nice person and he certainly wouldn't behave like one – be she a priestess or not.

Jasna did not seem to be impressed, which was something he had expected knowing how she behaved in front of the Dark Lord. "I will never respect scum like YOU!" she cried and Severus could feel loathing flow from her in streams.

The ominous rankling of potions bottles made him aware she was reaching her breaking point – the stupid woman had to preserve her energy and not waste it on him! "ENOUGH!" he roared and roughly grabbed the front of her robes to shake some sense into her, but she did not even flinch. He balled his other hand into a fist, knowing he would never hit her, but also being aware he had to make her realise he was in charge now.

They looked at each other with narrowed eyes, each determined to not back down. He could almost see the darkness he was forbidden to remove rise in her – the edges of her eyes started to show a greyish tint that only got darker.

_Control yourself! _he told her mentally, having enough power to convey a message but not enter her mind. He wanted to shock her into reacting and it seemed to be enough. Her eyes widened and she slowly got her highly unstable magic under some control again. But it was far from over – once awakened it could not be so easily banished. Not when she had to fight the fever and pain. But she managed to stop the frightening display at least even if a storm was brewing inside her.

Severus let go and put some distance between them, even when it would have been better to use this moment of weakness to get control over her. But he could not do that, his conscience did not allow him to act in the way Dumbledore did with him. He was a dark wizard, no doubt about that, and he had learned to use weaknesses of others to get to his goal, like every Slytherin did, however, he always had a bit of a Gryffindor in him which manifested at worst moments. Like right at the moment… Yet even standing by the wall on the other side of the room, trying to put distance between them and cool his temper, he noticed when her shoulders slouched in pain and the trembling of her hands got worse.

"Do you wish to take something for the pain?" he asked her calmly, or as calm as he could manage. She shook her head, not looking at him while balling her hands together. The tiny drops of sweat gathering on her brow spoke of a rising fever and lack of energy.

Severus said nothing in return only frowned at her stubbornness. He would not offer things twice; it was even generous of him to do so once as everyone else could tell her later. But when he waited for the 'help' Narcissa ran to get to the room, his thoughts turned towards the ritual where Jasna's strength would once again be tried. He could not imagine that this small and fragile woman with an inferno inside her soul would become his roommate in the next hour. The modified combinations of three rituals – one originating in the vows future priestesses gave to their temples and gods, the other in oaths of fealty to a liege lord and the last one in the binding of one's magic to a spouse (originally thought to give protection, but in this case meant to corrupt her) – would make her an ultimate prisoner of his will.

_If she is smart enough, she could find a loophole in this garble_, he thought. He would certainly be required to protect her should she do the same trick again and modify the ritual and the wordings of some parts and he did not count on the pain clouding her mind like the Dark Lord. No, Severus was especially wary about the first and last ritual used for they were both something she should be familiar with.

"Can you tell me what you have planned?" she asked again, "I may be ill right now, but I'm far from stupid," she grumbled, trying to control her trembling wand-hand while gesturing at their clothing.

"You will see…" he told her when he heard the unmistakable voice of the Dark Lord complaining about something in the hall. It would begin soon…

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**A/N: Tell me what you think about the idea, what keeps you reading the story despite featuring an OC and disregarding many things in the last book... I'm always glad to hear what you have to say. **


	10. Runes

**A/N: Ah, its been chaos the last few days... I apologize for the long wait. The next chapters in work, I promise to update soon.**

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Chapter Ten: Runes

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Jasna found herself once again in the big room where she had been 'presented' to the Death Eaters. The only difference she could see was the number of people present and the little remainder of previous dark activities on the floor. The change in the air affected her most though for she was not used to feel so much negative energy collected together. And the remnants of darkness inside her magic (agents of the Dark Lord who desired her corruption), made her the more susceptible to its lure than before.

Darkness waiting to be released twined itself around legs of the people in the room; a crack in the energy pools below the earth which was responsible for the heightened levels of magic in the room. This dangerous presence made her aware she was not a situation she could manipulate easily. If the Dark Lord was capable of tapping into that slumbering power and making it obey his will, she was a lost cause… But as soon as her eyes alighted on the runes they had drawn on the floor, she thought she had a chance – one small chance to make a difference.

Jasna recognized the old runes immediately and had to wonder what prompted them to use these ambiguous symbols when they had a weapon waiting for their call. Runes could only hinder the awakening of the power waiting for them below the floor of the room – they belonged to the few things that could manipulate the energy pools, manipulate magic. _Why then use them?_

Jasna shook her head to get rid of cobwebs the rising darkness put over her mind and let her body be dragged deeper into the room. Two men held her by the arms, partly leading her and partly holding her up. The Dark Lord had not been pleased with her performance in her sickroom. Fighting his right hand with apparent ease and then moving her erratic magic against him was not one of her more brilliant moves, she had to admit. The punishment was not that severe though – anything he did paled beside the pain she had experienced the last few days. Well, it did put her priorities straight if nothing else. She knew now that to fight each and every one of his followers was a foolhardy thing to do, especially when she was weak enough to feel dizzy just standing up.

As she stumbled along the two men, she realised with something akin to surprise that she didn't mind being dragged into the room. It was easily explained to appease her sense of honour which would not let her go down without a fight. _Let them think I'm weak_, Jasna thought, _it can only aid me and take them by surprise when I act_.

What she did resent was their belief she was unable to do magic without a wand. Nobody spoke the charm that would monitor the build up of magic in her, which was a standard procedure at the Temple in the time of training and later on with any visitors allowed on the grounds. Did they think she wasn't a priestess anymore just because her bond with the temple was severed or that wand-less magic was something only English wizards were capable of? Whatever their opinion, she was glad they were foolish enough to believe her sufficiently weakened after Voldemort's wrath.

At least the Dark Lord seemed to enjoy the general atmosphere in the room, she noted. It was not surprising though – all corrupted immortal souls thrived in such environment. Even now a part of her shivered in horror at what he had done… He could not, must not ever learn of the secrets high priestesses held hidden deep below the cardinal temple, she reminded herself. Not even one word of it…

"Welcome," greeted the Dark Lord with a cruel smile. Jasna did not know if it was meant for her or the persons coming in after her, so she just shot him a glare before concentrating on the runes – she could use them. She _must_ use them to counter what they've planned.

_Binding… yes, certainly a binding of magic. But there is something more – yet what?_

She tuned out the 'small talk' others engaged in and concentrated on the runes. It was hard when pain deep in her bones tried to distract her, but she simply _had_ to tap into their power, had to unlock their secrets and make them her own. Runes always did respond to her eagerly before, why should it be different now? She firmly ignored the knowledge of how many magic laws she had broken with renouncing her vows and prayed to all gods she was still considered pure enough for the runes to switch loyalties.

Dizziness and general feeling of being weak made the communication with the runes so much harder than she imagined. The little bit of magic that was not tainted by dark spells cast on her was hard to control. Every time she wanted to reach out to a rune, activating it with the spark sent forth, she could feel a tearing sensation deep inside her, but she gritted her teeth and half-blindly pushed out her magic until it settled over a rune – Haegl. Yes it was a challenge defying a dark lord, so this rune was perfect for a start. It responded to her, shyly and almost hesitantly, not like other times when it leapt at her attention, but it did respond and Jasna could have cried from sheer relief.

The rune of challenge was a great ally, but still not one of the strongest of runes she could have picked out. Securing the loyalty of this one was only a start – the real challenge was still before her and time was running out. Voldemort was talking about his victory, about superiority, power and other stupid things he was wont to do as she had learned, but she tuned him out. The longer he talked the more runes she could put under her control before the actual ritual started.

He could believe himself a god if he wished, but Jasna would never worship or fear him. She knew that this speech was just a rattling of a delusional mind and nothing she should concern herself with. The Temple did not condone boasting and these speeches were just feeding his massive ego.

_People tire of egoists quickly ad then discontent starts to rise up in them. Discontent leads to hate and hate leads to mutiny…_

Even the runes saw that. Whoever drew them was not devoted to the 'cause' - she could feel imperfections in their make up, his sloppy concentration and flickering power… it gave her a headache to erase the mistakes and strengthen them, but thy liked her for that. She was a witch who knew what she wanted. _Know yourself – know your magic,_ was the rule of the Temple. That is why the broken bond shattered her control over magic – for so long it had defined her it was a shock to be left without its comforting presence. But even the pain and her unruly magic were far more stable than the devotion of one of his followers. Jasna got control of his runes in no time at all once she secured Haegl.

It seemed that there were two wizards and one witch who had drawn them on the floor. Daeg pulsed and welcomed her. The rune of light was one of her favourites and she was glad to have its support. It was a powerful ally that could help her persuade the set of runes which were obviously drawn by a true supporter of Voldemort. She could have probably tried her luck with the ones she already got, but the most powerful rune and one that she had most confidence in defying dark magic was created by that mad witch called Bella. Ur was a picky rune and convincing it was what she would call a true challenge.

"And now we prepare for the ritual!" cried Voldemort and Jasna cursed in her mind at the interruption that shattered her concentration. She had barely managed to grasp Ur's attention! The two wizards holding her by the hands dragged her to the pool of ink. She had to bite her cheek to stop herself from pouring out her anger at the sight of her old protections. These protections, these marks were very hard to obtain, one of the highest honours and now a part of them lay on the floor.

_It hurt to receive magical tattoos, too…_ she grumbled before a sharp pain reminded her of the present again. They had unceremoniously released her arms to let her fall onto her knees like she was a sack of potatoes to be thrown around. It was time to humiliate her, to kneel before the Dark Lord.

_Forget him! Concentrate, you stupid woman! _She bit her lip and raised her eyes to the face of the Dark Lord, showing nothing but determination and defiance in them. _Get that rune, tap into old power!_

He was saying something to her, but she did not hear him, did not listen to the poisonous words he sprouted to crush her soul - her mind was far away, lost under the strain and pain and fighting for the rune that could save her life, save the Temple.

Jasna's eyes glazed over as she sent her powers over the cold floor to the rune. She showed the rune of strength she was not afraid, that she was strong, stronger than all of these people. Ur could see she followed strict rules that did not allow her to let weaker ones suffer, that she was tricked and thus they did not show true strength, only cunningness.

Ur decided and accepted the fallen priestess, calling to his aid the remaining runes of the circle. They would help the one who followed the old gods, but she had to fight herself too. She had picked the rune of challenge first and the rune of strength last – that meant she would have to show her true face to her adversaries and fight the battle alone. Only so will she gain more power, only so will she redeem herself in the face of the gods she had denied once. This was Jasna's punishment and gift. With tears in her eyes she thanked the runes and turned to face the Death Eaters again.

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	11. New Shackles

**Enjoy the double update :) and don't forget to leave a note at the end if you liked it.

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Chapter Eleven: New Shackles

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Severus Snape helped to light the candles that were placed on the floor in a shape of a pentagram with the circle of ink in the centre. He doubted a star was the appropriate shape for binding a priestess – they performed rituals in this fashion, the only difference being the number of points. And the star was a symbol of an old goddess, which he was sure Jasna knew and probably served as well.

As his eyes strayed to her kneeling form he had to note she truly looked like a priestess of old in the white robes and long dark hair that pooled around her. She seemed to pray and his eyes narrowed as a rune at his feet seemed to glow in a dark light. Did nobody notice this? Apparently not, so he lighted the last candle, obscuring the runes with his body in case the phenomena would appear again. It did not and it was time he returned to the Dark Lord again.

The room was darkened and only the candles gave off light which made the participants look like grotesque statues in their dark robes as they stood at the points of the star. Severus noted that only he and Jasna seemed to glow in the darkness, even the pale Dark Lord had melded with the shadows. He could feel anticipation in the air as the chosen four wizards moved to the points of the pentagram and he stood behind the kneeling priestess inside the circle. He could not but feel a shiver of apprehension run down his spine as he faced Britain's most dangerous wizards – being the centre of their attention really was not what he desired and too many alarm bells rang I his mind as they opened the scrolls given to them by the Dark Lord.

_This is not the time to panic_, he told himself and dutifully looked at is master for further instructions. He knew what had to be done, but the Dark Lord was not risking anything this time, so they had to wait for his order to do anything, even read out a word of the incantations and prayers.

Jasna stiffened. It was time - she had the runes under control, had secured their cooperation. Her eyes cleared but she felt absolutely sick with dizziness and the pain gnawing at her insides made her want to curl on the floor and groan her misery to the world. _No time for this… call Her, call the goddess, _she told herself and closed her eyes to block out the threatening sight of them having taken their positions. It would begin any time now! The sight of scrolls being opened made her shiver in dread for she knew very well she was bone tired already.

The first of the incantations rang out and it felt different this time, it felt even more sinister than before but that was only because she knew exactly how it should be, what it should command and say. It was the utter perversion of the white ritual that horrified her and she prayed with new fervour to the goddess Danica. She had chosen her deity the minute she saw the runes and donned the white garb. A female deity it had to be and the runes meant it would be one of the sky-sisters. So the one she called to was the goddess she felt most connected to – the Morning Star or Danica. The benevolent deity lighted the sky when it was the darkest and brought a new day with her sister Zorya. A goddess of new beginnings and of hope – she was exactly what she needed right now.

Jasna did not ask for salvation, did not ask for miracles, she only prayed for the goddess to look after her in her hour of need, to give her heart hope so she could gather her own strength and fight. She prayed for insight and for understanding. She prayed that none of her sisters would have to see this, to experience this…

The chanting was simultaneous, very well rehearsed and made with clear purpose in mind. It almost sounded as one of those chants the muggle monks used to participate in since most of it was in Latin. Such magic was difficult to defeat – even the numbers were on their side for she could hardly fight back so much male magic at once. She was used to balance, to harmony not chaos!

Magic poured from them, rushing at her own magical core like magic had done when she was bound to the Temple, when she had experienced one of the most beautiful and magical events of her life. When stars had felt like glowing orbs of cold light only a hand's width from her, when she could hear the hum of life inside the earth and feel connected to the endless circle of death and birth… Like when she felt her own magical core expand to welcome the touch of her deities, the touch of her friends. It had felt like her heart would burst from the love she felt coming from her brothers and sisters. She was able to show them how dear they were to her…

But this magic was dark, it was malicious – it destroyed but did not create from the fragments left behind the destruction. With tears in her eyes she fought back, but they managed to slam into her. A scream tore from her mouth and she felt _his_ hand on her shoulder, felt him keep her down. His touch was the only thing she could feel beside the pain and the difference almost drove her mad.

She called to the runes and they caught the magic still rushing at her and bound it inside the pentagram, inside their own powers that lay dormant until called. The darkness was still there, but it did not attack, it could not reach her again until she decided what to do with it. This was what the runes did for her – give her a choice what to do with the magical intent suspended in the air. If one part of the incantation had not yet melded with her, had not yet gotten hold of her, she could have repelled it, but now she had to twist it again in the short time before the Dark Lord would realise something was wrong again. She had to do something to keep herself alive and to do damage at the same time.

But the pain, oh the pain! She could hardly think. The remnants of her bonds recognized the magical imprint and wanted to react to the corrupt force that would see her bound to the Dark Lord, see her obeying his commands… It was a struggle – she needed something to get rid of it, somewhere to push it…

Severus flinched inwardly as he felt the corrupt magic gather and rush at them. Yes, the majority was centred on Jasna, but one part meandered to him for he would be her caretaker, the one to share a part of the bonds that had yet to be evoked. She reacted even more violently and he had to grab her shoulder to steady her or she would have buckled and maybe even done herself an injury. As his hand settled on her, he could feel magic hum under her skin so violently, he was sure there was something she had already done. He could feel her fight back the corrupt magic, fight back and succeed to be free.

He was surprised and awed – she had managed it, she had truly managed to do something! Jasna was an ally they could have used many years ago; she thought and saw magic on an entirely different level than anyone besides Dumbledore. Nowhere he could detect any sign she had thwarted the first attempt of the Dark Lord, only the strong hum of magic she wielded betrayed that something was cast back. It was ingenious!

It was then that something slammed into him and he had to suck in his breath to fight back a vocal reaction. It came from her! He could feel how something came from her, travelled up his hand and inside his magical core – he shuddered but controlled his face. She had done something, she had moved from simply protecting herself to attacking back! His dark eyes looked sharply at her as she shuddered and seemed to loose her wits. Severus dug his fingers into her shoulder to bring her back – to wake her up. It was too dangerous to loose consciousness now!

The Death Eaters had already moved to the second part of the ritual that manifested in dark tendrils. They shot at them and stained their white garb when they started to coil around their limbs. It seemed they concentrated on their arms and in Severus' case to the arm sporting a Dark Mark. But with her it seemed the Dark Lord wanted to remind her every minute she belonged to him for they took on a form of dark bracelets. A searing sensation made both of them grit their teeth as the tendrils seemed to sink into their skin, making it take on an unhealthy red glow.

Jasna screamed as her magic lashed out at the new shackles, but new tendrils shot to Severus and from him to Voldemort. It was in this moment that she spoke up for she could not break this alone. A prayer and commands in the old ways was heard – she was speaking in the old temple technique; her words seemed to originate deep inside her torso, somewhere in her throat and rolled of her tongue in a magnificent accent that just brimmed with control. It was almost like listening to grumbling than to a prayer. But then her register changed abruptly and the high tones sung in the ways of Altaic cultures rang out.

The words of ancient power made the hairs on everyone's necks stand up. The voice was deep and brimming with that special command over magic only true priestesses could have. The powerful display was accented by the flaring of the runes which renounced the original casters and joined her. She called to her deities and they knew her call would be answered.

Voldemort was furious but still not defeated – they continued the chant with renewed intensity, moving to the last part that could bind her magic to Severus, thus ending her little chant. But nobody counted on what happened next.

Jasna slumped on the ground, her eyes rolling backwards to expose the whites. Severus threw himself on the knees, checking her pulse, frantically trying to help her – she was so close! She could not let Voldemort finish this; she had to control the magic now! As seconds ticked by the runes lost their glow and the chains being generated by the Dark Lord thickened and started to sink inside her skin.


	12. Priestess

**A/N: Don't forget to review! :D I like to hear what you think about the story so far and ask questions about things you find were not explained well. What did you think was too unbelievable even in the magic realm... and so on. ;)**

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Chapter Twelve: Priestess

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Severus Snape was kneeling at Jasna's collapsed form while the chanting continued and moved to the last part of the ritual. His fingers searched for a pulse for he was afraid the strain of wielding such powerful magic and the pain combined were simply too much for her heart. But her pulse was there – even if it was weaker than he would have liked. He could not imagine what kind of pain she was in, what the rising woman's magic in her at the prayer had done to the darkness infused inside her…

Severus closed his eyes and let out an inaudible sigh. Seeing such a fiery spirit broken left him with an urge to cry his heart out at the injustice of the world. To prolong her torment so was even crueler than to kill her. But not a tear escaped his eye, not a wrinkle in his brow betrayed his worry. To the world, Severus Snape appeared to have a heart made of stone, a soul black as the night, while his entire being cried out his despair and regret. He had no need for tears; he knew that to hope was foolish. He nodded to the Dark Lord that she was still alive and the immortal man smirked before continuing with the chant.

_Why don't you help her?_ screamed Severus inside his soul for his lips could not be moved, neither words formed with his tongue. He was frozen beside her unmoving body as darkness swirled around their forms, burning his skin as it settled into the black tendrils. _Why did you abandon her…_ he reproached the gods who seemed to have renounced their servant. _Why don't you answer her call…?_

As the last part of the chant rang out and he could feel tendrils of magic slip from him to her in order to chain her magic to his will, to corrupt her core through his own blackened and broken soul, he had to swallow down bile that was rising in his throat. _How many will die when the Temple is lost? How many more will suffer under Voldemort?_ he asked bitterly, but there was no answer neither a sign she would wake up from whatever had her bound in its grasp while the runes kept siphoning magic from the air. An unbidden prayer of his own rose up for the woman lying in his arms.

Jasna was lost inside the magic she had called forth, lost inside the warring currents inside her body. She could not move, could not control what happened anymore – her strength was utterly spent. At the same time she felt the chains sink inside, get a hold of her, but she was powerless to stop it, powerless to do what she wanted to do the most. There was no escaping her fate anymore. It was done. It had been a good fight, but she had to admit she was the defeated one and the Death Eaters the winning side.

Tears wanted to gather in her eyes, but she could not control even this; could not cry and let her sorrow show, could not scream in despair and horror. Was there really nothing more to be done? Was this the limit of her powers over which she could not go? Would even her own body betray her like magic seemed to abandon her when she needed it the most? Was she unworthy of calling to the goddess?

_Please… _she pleaded inside her mind, crying tearless tears. _Please… please protect your servant. Protect your daughter; don't let me be lost to the darkness. _

Jasna could not even sense what was happening in the room and that made her more afraid than ever. How many horrors she had seen and experienced in the last days, she could hardly keep count. She did not understand why this happened to her, why it was she who got trapped. Was she to be punished for something she or her family had done? But her mother had given her to the Temple as a child – she had no family outside its walls anymore, not for a very long time.

The priestess could feel only pain as foreign malicious magic twined around her body, around her magic. It tried to enslave her, tried to rob her of the one thing left – her own will and integrity. Again her silent and desperate cry for help rang out. She clung to her beliefs, to the memory of the benevolent power she felt as she had been accepted into the sisterhood and hoped with all her troubled and torn heart to get control of her body, to fight.

_Don't let me become their weapon to destroy you! I won't be a traitor, _cried Jasna inside her mind, somehow finding among the confusion reigning inside her the spark of rage, the fighting spirit which caused her trouble before coming to the Temple. _Perun! Morana and Danica! Oh ye old gods of magic and power! Guide me, save me…_

But there seemed to be no answer back. There was no comforting touch of pure magic settling upon her soul, only darkness she had learned to remove and change. The male powers threatened to suffocate her and when it seemed all was lost, Jasna started to pray for release, for death. If that was what it took to keep the secrets, to save her soul from committing dark acts under their thumb, so be it. But then a dark strand appeared that was different from others twining around her. The strand was cloaked in darkness but inside it a lone hair of light lingered.

With a strange feeling inside her heart she reached for it; touched the tendril of foreign power that twined around her gently and called to her to do the same, to let it guide her. She could also hear a muted summon to submit to its will, but it was drowned out by the message of that lone hair of magic. It wanted to protect her, give her freedom. Jasna smiled inside her soul at the proffered helping hand. Slowly a glowing strand of her own power moved outside her body and touched the magic of the one who wished to protect her. She knew somewhere deep inside her that what she had just done was not what her enemy intended, but the old marriage ritual always favoured women since it was priestesses who performed them and not men. In a magical if not legal sense, she had married the dark wizard who had reached out to her, had bound his and her magic together.

Severus could feel something soft and strong at the same time reach inside him, inside his magic. It was a strange feeling, similar yet different from the magic that bound him to service in the ranks of the Dark Lord, similar yet different from the Unbreakable Vow. He opened his eyes and looked down at the witch in his arms. Her eyelashes fluttered as if she were waking up…

It was then that she grabbed his magic with all her might and he had to suck in his breath sharply at the sensation – fingers of iron held his power in grasp and he knew she was capable of destroying him, saw in the fire that burned in her unfocused but open eyes that she was prepared to destroy each and everyone in the room. He knew she was capable of doing this. But Jasna was no Dark Lord and would not abuse her powers if there was another way to get out of the situation. The two strands connecting them got only stronger and he could feel she did not object the union, the alliance magic strengthened for them.

As her eyes cleared, awareness making them shine again with that defiant light, he realised she was searching inside him, trying to find out more about the wizard bound with her. His secrets were protected, but he could not hide his loyalties – she was aware of his betrayal of Voldemort.

The runes flared to life again, this time not interfering with the magic released. Jasna was twisting the strands, taking his power and he was awed at the focus she had even with his magic. It seemed that the connection he felt growing between them helped settle her erratic magic. Grudgingly, he had to admit Voldemort knew what he was doing even when he went about it in the most painful manner.

Suddenly a breeze swept inside their circle, moving from his position outwards and into the room. It fluttered at their long white robes gently before moving in all directions, snuffing out one candle after another until only a few were left. The chant broke apart as wizards tried to keep their parchments steady in the wind, tried to see in the almost completely dark room. Only one more stanza, only one more, was left to complete the ritual.

Severus' eyes were still locked with hers. He did not care about the Dark Lord; his focus was on the small beaten but still not broken woman that brimmed with power she carefully extracted from him without any protest on his side. Severus felt an unmistakable feeling of glee and spitefulness as he sensed Jasna change the strands binding them together; manipulate the magical intent in the air and runes. She would not be his slave, would not be bound to Voldemort and dark magic. She would do her best to protect the Temple and her life. It was all he desired – to be kept out of this business after the ritual was done.

'Thank you…' she whispered inside his mind. 'Will you help me finish the bond, clean the evidence?'

'Yes,' was his reply. Together they will call upon the entity, hoping that her presence in the room would explain the changes in the bond. Severus was not entirely sure how it had formed, was in fact convinced it was impossible his magic would have woken her up, but so it seemed to have happened. A small suspicion formed in his mind and combining the things he felt and saw in her presence with his dreams he was sure there were more powers at work than he was aware of.

They would pretend that the ritual succeeded in some measure and the Dark Lord would be satisfied with Severus for a very long time changes notwithstanding.

The last word of the ritual rang out and the dark wizards lowered their arms, the magic crackling in the air settling into Severus and Jasna, "Corruptus in extremis… (Corrupt to the extreme)" said Voldemort and the last candles went out in a powerful gush of wind that ruffled their black robes.


	13. Punishment

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I was busy with my other story in LOTR fandom.**

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**Chapter Thirteen: Punishment**

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Voldemort experienced a deep sense of satisfaction as the room plunged into darkness – it was done, his step towards the secrets of the Temple completed. He breathed in deeply, tasting the unmistakable flavour of potent dark magic that tingled on the skin and stimulated his sense of smell. There was an unmistakable sense of victory in the air and it pleased him immensely.

The Dark Lord could almost see how simmering anger and displeasure at the prolonged wait for the witch's submission disappeared in total darkness. She might have fought back bravely, amusing him with her disability to learn better or to use cunning, and tried to thwart his plans repeatedly without success, but she was no match to him in terms of power ad strength. He had after all returned from the dead – what could _she_ possibly know of practical dark magic?

"Incendio!" he commanded and candles flared to life again, bathing the room in soft light which produced the most magnificent shadows.

Snape was still kneeling on the floor and holding up the pale and shivering priestess by the arms. He turned his dark gaze to the Dark Lord and nodded. Voldemort acknowledged him then turned to the wizard on his left who had rustled with his robes. He himself usually did not feel the strain of performing magic as keenly as his followers did, but now even he had to admit his powers were a bit depleted.

"You have done well," he said to the tired men, "Lord Voldemort is satisfied with the level of your strength and devotion."

The Death Eaters relaxed at the praise; a bit winded and overwhelmed they slowly sank to the floor where they tried to regain control of their limbs. Magical strain affected the entire body and they had had to give all they got to bind a strong person like the priestess sitting in the embrace of the Potions Master. The dark wizard himself appeared a bit paler than usual and a tiny drop of perspiration, which was slowly moving down near his hairline, caught the light and glistened for a second before disappearing from sight again. But there was something off with the only two people dressed in white.

Something Voldemort could not quite put his finger on had rubbed him the wrong way. He narrowed his eyes darkly, red irises glittering coldly as he looked at the pale-faced pair. Snape straightened up Jasna so that she did not lean against his hands anymore, and stood up, straightening his robes in his usual fastidious manner. No, there was nothing wrong with the Potions Master – it was the damnable priestess! That gleam in her eye – that defiant light was back in them full force.

With a fast lunge forward, which made his robes flare dramatically, the Dark Lord rushed to get inside the magical circle to grab her by her little neck in anger. Yet, before he could cross the line of the barrier, the power of the pentagram zapped him with icy-blue magic. Even as he protected himself with wandless magic from the dangerous power, low bluish flames flared to life along the lines of the ritualistic grounds and the pentagram's inner circle - a sign something was terribly wrong. Cries of dismay from his tired followers filled the room.

Snape looked incredulously at the flames, his gaze snapping to the woman at his feet. He recoiled not a second later as her body became enveloped in a spiral of bluish tendrils – foreign powers rising from the pool of ink she sat upon. He had never seen anything like that before. Not even their alliance, their union could have prepared him for the sight.

Slowly, she turned the palm of her right hand towards the sky in a graceful gesture of acceptance and plea. The breeze that had swept through the room before returned, bringing with it the fresh smell of autumn forests of the east. The ink bubbled again and liquefied. Its resin-like state morphed into a quickly flowing black ink made of the finest black powder. A low-spoken words in her language made it move up her other hand, flow over her skin in magnificent shapes of the runes they had all seen before. Not all of them manifested of course – the bonds were still broken, but it was clear she was claiming back the signs of her status.

"You!" cried Voldemort with fury at the priestess. "Severus! Stop her!" he commanded from the other side of the fires which flared in response to his rising dark magic.

Before Snape could reply, Jasna turned her cold gaze to the Dark Lord, piercing him with it easily. "He cannot follow your orders to harm me," she told him while the ink moved over her back and shoulders, staining the white garment. "You have bound us together – or have you already forgotten?"

"This is not what I had intended!" thundered back the Dark Lord, wielding his wand like a sword in a duel, rapidly firing off spells that would cross the enchanted fire and the barrier's protection. He had realised immediately that the bond between them had almost virtually turned them into one – if he were to harm her, he would harm Severus too. "What have you done this time?! HOW?!"

Her gaze moved to the ink that was seeping through the layers of white fabric. In a way, the ritualistic garb now resembled the state of her magical core, visually showed them the changes happening inside her during and after the ritual itself. "_Even if a bond is broken, it does not mean it is gone_," she said as she moved her gaze back up. Another female voice joined her in the middle of the quotation, echoing in the room.

The wizards recoiled at the crackle of power that made the fires reach higher up. A tall female form appeared at one point of the pentagram. Made entirely by the blue flames, she slowly grew into shape. Her clothing and insignia told them they were facing an illusion of the Highest Priestess of Perun's Temple. It was the Mother itself who had used the earth's powers to aid her priestess, aid her daughter, and now she stood before them in all her terrifying glory, called forth by the desperate plea and a dark premonition of what was to come.

"You have stolen and hurt my daughter," said the illusion in a voice which was coloured by the magic and the distance from which it came. It accused and condemned them at the same time, and even Voldemort had to admit the woman was intimidating - especially when sparks began to fly around at their silence. This was no flooing or patronus messaging, but the old way of communication with the spirits. It would have made Voldemort sacrifice one part of his soul to possess it.

"She belongs to my servant now," he replied with narrowed eyes. He was not afraid of an illusion – no, she had no power here. But when the Mother, who ran the Temple and protected its perimeters, found a way to contact her charge from the far-off Ural, then things were definitely turning from bad to worse. The small priestess was far too well-versed in appealing to higher powers, he grumbled inside his mind.

"Even if the bonds of priesthood were dissolved, she is my child first," she replied and there was a hint of anger to be noted in her voice, but for an enraged and protective mother, she showed a high level of restraint. Voldemort had to cringe internally at the news – _from all the priestesses and servants of the Temple, the damned Russian had to kidnap the very daughter of the Mother?!_

Jasna was looking at the fiery form with tears in her eyes. The stately woman spoke in a soft voice in their tongue to the lost daughter to encourage her. "There will always be a place for you in my heart, my dear," said the woman, before her gaze settled on the Potions Master who stood pale-faced a few steps from Jasna.

"Now, you…You may be her husband now," she said and the tone implied she was not happy with the arrangement at all, but since the bonds were cut, Jasna could not return."Bound as you are because of _this_ Dark Lord… But heed my warning now – do not dare to lay a finger on her in a way she does not approve of."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes in anger, fury taking him over, "How dare you order my loyal servant around! He answers to me!" he thundered with an angry swing of his hand. The wand he had taken from Lucius fired off a few sparks in reaction to his fury.

"You have stolen my child, so I will take yours," was the clipped reply before the fire collapsed in a giant hush that sent bluish sparks through the room. They had to shield their eyes from the harsh wind that followed before it was over. But when they removed their hands, they saw Severus slumped over on the floor, his hands tightly held against the chest with an expression of agony on his face.

Voldemort thought for a moment the priestess had done something to finish off his servant, but then whatever she had done was over. The Potions Master was even paler than before and there was a dark red and black stain on his chest. In fact, it appeared to be a short sequence of symbols and runes Jasna had on her skin. The runes on the floor flared for the last time and the black lines sunk inside it - Severus Snape, loyal servant, was marked by the Highest Priestess of the Temple!

Voldemort thought he was going to explode in anger.

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**What do you think? :D**


	14. Aftermath

**Sorry for the long wait... Our neighbour had cut the phone line by accident in his backyard when they were digging something to do with pipes or something... (sweatdrop)**

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Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath

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Severus Snape was gazing through the window of his new quarters at Hogwarts, looking with unseeing eyes at the Forbidden forest and gritting his teeth from time to time in order to push down spasms of pain shooting up his spine – a common side-effect of frequent exposure to Cruciatius. A new day was dawning slowly, but he had not slept a minute in the night.

_The Dark Lord had been in an explosive mood_, he thought as he gingerly moved his left shoulder, _and very generous with foul words and hexes_. Severus thought he had been fortunate compared to others. The Dark Lord could not stomach the thought that one priestess was able to thwart him time and time again even in her bad shape and made his feelings clearly known. They were lucky no one got killed even if it was a narrow miss for Jasna.

He would have probably gulped down a vial of Dreamless Sleep and be done with the pain and problems that had piled upon him were there not her. Jasna had borne the brunt of Dark Lord's anger and was in a right state. After the protection of the ritualistic circle had collapsed she was the prime target of Voldemort's wrath which was dangerous even when you were in good physical shape and not barely lucid from the magical exhaustion and recovering from serious injuries. The Cruciatius hitting her full-blast had been so strong that even when she had tried to buffer it with her restored protections she was unable to stop the pain and torment from reaching him through their bond.

It was his cry of pain and his plea to spare her since not everything was lost yet that had stopped the torment but then she had already collapsed in a twitching heap in the circle. Her eyes had rolled upwards to expose the whites and blood trickled from her nose when he had turned her around with cold hands. When he felt her pulse he knew she was in serious danger and all his fears were confirmed with just one wave of his wand. He had ignored the raging Dark Lord who continued to release his anger on the room and other men and had tried his best to stabilize her despite the pain he felt through that strand of power connecting them. It was a miracle she had survived in her weakened state and he suspected early on that the bond between them had something to do with it – he had never before felt so weak magically, so she must have taken power from him to sustain her failing heart even before the curse had hit her.

When he had started to cast a flurry of spells to keep her comfortable and her state stable a while longer, the Dark Lord finally realised hat he could very well loose her. Afterwards things happened really quickly. He remembered screaming for Malfoy to bring potions (a good safety precaution if he ever saw one) but then everything was just a flurry of pain, nausea and urgency. He disregarded his own pain to focus on her, but now he had to admit that he must have still felt a par of her won pain through their unique bond.

Severus turned his head to the side and glanced through the open door of his bedroom at the unmoving form in his bed that continued to occupy his thoughts for hours. The Dark Lord was quite amenable to moving her to Hogwarts and they did so immediately. He was relieved to get her out of the enraged wizard's sight – Voldemort cooled down quicker if he was not confronted with the object of his failure and he would have time and privacy to learn more of her.

Jasna was still unconscious since he had given her the last set of potions to strengthen her heart and stop the pain, but he knew she would wake up in the next hour or two. Her face was drawn and paler than the white sheets, the contrast only made stronger with her dark hair. The runes monitoring her physical state shimmered over her form but had not changed in the last few hours the worrying news. She had a long way to go to get well again.

Severus exhaled in a minuscule sigh and held the bridge of his nose between his fingers. His eyes felt like sandpaper and the bags under them only too openly told of a man stretched to his limits. He needed sleep, but could get none until she was better. This angered him in some deep level and not only because his job was harder with her needs and constant presence but because he could not trust her with his colleagues. They were connected now - one person by magical standards if he understood the ritual correctly, but what exactly that meant was an enigma. Jasna had changed, morphed the ritual and magical strands… and he had a suspicion the Mother had done something too. Jasna knew more, had to know more to take the option when death would have been preferable. He had been given a small glimpse of her memories and knew how determined she was to protect the Temple and the knowledge it held. He could respect her for that and her resilience, but she was nonetheless a complete stranger to him. They were allies, but he had yet to find out more about her before he would trust her further. She already had a powerful card in her hands – she knew he was not loyal to Voldemort.

Gently massaging the bridge of his nose, he moved with slow steps to the table where a stack of papers waited for him. He had many things to do, many things to supervise and too little time. If he were a man of hope, someone who trusted in things coming together by a hand of god, he would have believed Jasna could be of use, but he was not such a man and a spy would never trust another with things he could accomplish alone. She appeared to be the same in this way, but how he knew that he was not sure.

As he sat down in the old chair, he had to massage the itching skin where the mark of the Mother was now slumbering inside his skin. It had hurt like hell when it ate into his flesh, his magic, leaving a big and ugly crust of dried blood in its wake, but it was still nothing compared to the Dark Mark. He could feel no evil from it, only a sense of watchfulness, like he had gotten a sentinel to follow his steps and protect him in need. It was a peculiar feeling, something he could not rightly place and this in turn made him angry.

_She had no right!_

He cursed inside his mind – it had been a big gamble to trust Jasna when he did so, but he had realised everything was lost if she fell, if she got lost to the darkness. But that small piece of trust he extended to her did not give her or any of her relations the right to _claim_ him. Oh, he knew very well he was under the watchful eyes of a powerful and mysterious community – a community that had withstood time and countless wars. He had enough of masters and no desire to collect another one. The link strengthening between them appeared not a line of salvation like it was for her but a slowly growing chain pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Despite Jasna's continuing survival and relative freedom, nothing was won yet, the war was still waging on. Voldemort might not have won the battles, but Jasna was far from victorious herself. No, this was a clear draw and Severus could only pray and hope (which he did not by principle) that he would be left out of the inevitable battle between the priestess and the Dark Lord. If he had any say in the matter, he decided to make sure he would be safe from them both. She was a dangerous person. The many unpleasant skirmishes between them evidence enough of her temper and deep grudge against dark magic. No, she was a power all her own and he knew her magical strength would return quickly in the protective embrace of Hogwarts – it always did help him heal quicker.

Yet, there was that incident when she had held his power in her hands. When she had linked with him, claimed a part of him as her protector he remembered that she was uncannily comfortable with the dark part of his soul and magical core. In fact, she seemed used to the darkness it entailed – but how? It was an unsettling enigma when the forceful infusion of dark powers into her core and the breaking of her bond had almost claimed her life. The book from the darkest corner of Dumbledore's private collection waiting for him on the desk offered answers to all his questions and more, but he was not sure he wanted them. The book appeared to be quite dark, malicious even… but since when was he daunted by outer appearances?

He reached for the book, but before his fingers could have settled on the worn cover, a small tingle of the new mark made him hesitate. He held his hand over the book, strangely unsure what had just happened but unwilling to disregard warnings of any kind. The link he had with Jasna seemed to vibrate and this was the only warning he received before a part of his power was suddenly drained. Not a moment after a low moan was heard from the bedroom and the monitoring spells sounded a warning. He pushed the chair away in one powerful thrust and rushed to the bed. He could feel the strand connecting them change slightly, being infused with his power and the slow trickle of her depleted strength.

"Foolish woman…" Severus muttered as he perused the readings – her body was still not recovering fast enough and her heart threatened to fail without the help of potions. "Why do you feed this link your strength?" he asked, but she was unable to answer him.

He summoned a small towel and wiped her brow. No matter how weak her body, she seemed to be more concerned with her magical core and the magical bonds she had with the Temple and other people. Since he had felt the various strands connecting and twining with her core, he knew she had many and thus he was not sure why this bond meant so much to her. It couldn't be that she truly considered him to be her husband. He certainly had not agreed to that and had thus been mightily shocked at the words of the Mother.

He looked through the window to the lightening sky and had to gulp down another sigh. There were just a few hours until he was required to appear in the Great hall and face his staff. He could feel a migraine manifest just imagining their faces and sharp words… but he were not who he was if he would let that hinder him, no – he would fulfil his role and finish this war once and for all. He only worried what would happen with her in the mean time. If only he could call Poppy to look after Jasna…

Severus returned his gaze back to the forest and tried to not imagine what the day would bring.

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**A/N: New chapters to follow soon!**


	15. Awakening

**A/N: New chapter, as promised. :D

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Chapter Fifteen: Awakening

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Feeling extremely weak, Jasna slowly returned to consciousness and when she did her first wish was to be unconscious again. Everything hurt – her chest, hands, her back…it seemed there wasn't a part of her body that did not demand her attention with a loud cry. In the last few weeks this was almost a constant and she hated the fact she couldn't wake up with a smile on her face once for a while. The majority of the pain making her uncomfortable even in the soft bed was located at her chest and she was well aware what was causing it. With a groan she lifted a trembling and slightly un-cooperating arm to place it gently over the area which hurt the most, hoping the warmth of her skin would sooth the twinges.

She looked around the room where the big and warm bed was located with eyes that where sharp despite her lack of strength. The walls were painted in neutral colours and the small, but still large enough room tastefully decorated with old furniture that had yet to be adorned with personal things like books and collectibles. This lack of human presence in the room was the first thing she really noticed and she guessed they've put her into another guest room, but when her eyes strayed to the window, the view presenting itself to her made her realise she was no longer in the Manor but somewhere else entirely. A dark forest was seen, and the height from which she looked down upon it told her she was in a tower or something similar. Just as she formed a derisive thought in her mind about stupid men and their dramatic sense for locking her up in a tower like some cursed princess, which was not amusing at all, when the sign of human activity on the patch of grass she could see made her scratch out the assumption.

"Where am I?" she whispered as a painful twinge of her heart made her lay back on the soft pillow once again, thus shutting out the view. There were wizards in long robes moving across the lawn, but they did not appear to her to be Death Eaters. But the one she was bound to – the disloyal dark wizard – he was not with them.

Jasna turned her gaze away from the window and pondered the dramatic and painful events of the previous days. She could hardly believe what she had done in that one desperate moment when magic itself seemed to be fighting her – the vessel of old powers. She had bound herself to him – to one of the high ranking Death Eaters - taking a leap of faith with the glowing strand of power. She groaned to herself at the mess this had made, but had to acknowledge that she truly could never return back to the Temple. She had broken yet another rule – she had married (if only in spirit and not in body), she had placed her loyalty to him…

Jasna closed her eyes and reached inside herself easily after years of practice. The new strand which incorporated fragments of her broken vows to the Temple was waiting to be upgraded, was waiting to be awoken… it was a bond like none seen before but she was nonetheless confident that she could live with it, that she could discover all its secrets with time. But one thing was sure – the man she had bound herself to was powerful. And an enigma…he was disloyal to the cause of the Death Eaters, but how far his disloyalty ran she was not yet sure. He appeared to be a harsh man - unyielding and dark with no love lost for the world… whatever softness he held inside himself was carefully hidden behind the stony facade. This made her cringe inside for she too was guilty of hiding her warmer emotions whenever outside the protective walls of the Temple and even inside she took a long time to warm up to new people. However, she knew that to live with him even remotely in peace and not strain their bond she would have to be the one doing the most to keep peace between them. But just because he had saved her did not mean she would let him boss her around – _Oh no!_

But before she could start plotting, she had to learn more about him - the new powerful string connecting and balancing her magical core needed fine-tuning before it could be activated fully. She didn't even deem to think they were separated – the Dark Lord was a fool in many ways but he would never put his most useful tool in danger. The dark wizard the High priestess marked was somewhere near, she could swear.

The monitoring spell put on her told her someone would be coming to look at her soon and the potions once again neatly arranged on a tablet only confirmed with their meticulous placing who had been administering them yet again. The amount of brews she had taken in the last days was sure to make her react badly to certain foods in the near future, but thus was the price paid for enhanced healing.

Suddenly a dark form that had appeared at the door grabbed her attention. She turned her eyes to him, but could not read his countenance sufficiently to say in what mood he was. She did, however, note the strain he was under and knew that her careful strengthening of the bond only aggravated his and her condition. Their new union was not one of the blessed but a desperate attempt at survival and it showed in the strain it put them under to maintain it healthy. The Dark Mark he had was neutralised with the brand of the Temple, but his inherent dark magic nonetheless had to be blocked form reaching her yet stabilising one. But how she would fare with his darkness was yet to be seen.

"Good. You are awake," he said and turned to the readings of her physical state. Jasna only sighed and closed her eyes – she was too tired to even offer a reply. He already sounded to be displeased with her, but she truly could have done nothing to speed up her healing process or stabilise the bond without giving her magical strength to it.

"How is the pain?" he asked her as he turned to the potions.

"Manageable…" she replied and sighed. She wanted to be fully lucid and able to enjoy said lucidness which was impossible with painkillers. He turned around with an eyebrow arched, but she did not change her answer. A corner of his mouth turned down as if in a scowl, but she did not care about his opinion. If she wanted no potions then this was her choice and she would have to live with the consequences.

He turned back around and brought with him a small goblet he filled with the required amount of a dark-hued potion she knew to be for her heart. She was grateful this condition was only temporary even if a potential for long-standing damage was always there. It was clear, though, she could not survive another attack of dark magic even if the power she still held as a priestess gave her great healing powers… What was too much was simply too much.

Obediently she gulped down the potion and water from a crystal glass and that seemed to satisfy him. "Where am I?" she asked for she was truly curious – the magic she could feel in the room was quite different from what she was used to by now. It was welcoming and nurturing magic, a greatly reduced power of the Temple almost.

"You are at Hogwarts School for witchcraft and wizardry," he said and added almost as an afterthought, "And I am the Headmaster here."

She arched her eyebrow and gently shook her head, "Poor children…" she muttered. "How many will survive the Dark Lord's idea of education?" It was clear that if he was here to look after them then whoever opposed Voldemort and his followers was in great danger.

He scowled and she could see he had a sharp retort ready but he held it back. She had asked him what he himself had been asking himself and he could not rebuff her as he did his staff. She already knew of his betrayal so he did not need to hide himself from her completely, but show her enough to distract her from things she had no right to know of.

"Do not try my patience," he said and she could feel herself bristle internally at his tone. "You live because I convinced the said Dark Lord that you still could be of use; that I could corrupt you through the bond, but we both know that is a lie since I'm marked by the Temple too."

"It is not entirely a lie," she told him while looking into his dark eyes to show him she had said the truth. Jasna knew that giving him valuable information would only benefit her in the long run – she wanted to change the bond as soon as possible and return back home, but for that she needed his trust, books and freedom to move around to contact her people. All this would be impossible to achieve if he hated or mistrusted her, so she offered him an olive branch of peace, knowing his temper from the clashes she had had with him in the past. She trusted in her restoring power to be in no danger from his magic, so she told him something that would make his deceit of Voldemort easier. The more she encouraged his separation from Voldemort, the closer she would be to the downfall of the abomination that paraded in Britain. Oh, yes, she would see him destroyed.

The dark eyes of Severus Snape were glued to her, so she elaborated, "There is a slight possibility of your magic overpowering mine if I were to get magically depleted, but since I can take and twist yours since the ritual, it is a very small possibility, but a possibility nonetheless."

He looked at her as if he tried to reach inside her to see what she was plotting, but decided that whatever reasons he came up with were not interfering with his own plans. "What of the mark," he asked her and gestured with a terse movement of his hand to his chest. Shad to bite back a laugh at the irony – they both were held in chains by the Temple and the Dark Lord. If she could live (albeit with heavy feelings of resentment) with the chains to him and thus to Voldemort, so he could live with the link to one of the oldest Temples. She told him so much and they both looked as if they had bitten something sour, which in turn made them reach a new level of understanding of each other. They were just two players, nothing more and would have to live with that.

"I will stay out of your business," she told him, "and you will stay out of mine as much as possible with _him_ behind your back." If that was not a generous offer, she did not know one.

"Agreed," he said and she could feel the strand connecting them strengthen with their oaths.


	16. Before the Welcoming Feast

**A/N: Sorry for the really long delay in posting - my life has been a mess for two months strait. I do believe I've got it solved now (knocks three times on the desk). I hope I'll be updating every week from this day on, so that I'll keep my faithful readers happy and satisfied. **

**I'm really curious what you think of the new chapter even if it is not that long. :D**

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Chapter Sixteen: Before the Welcoming Feast

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Severus Snape looked at the pale, but visibly satisfied witch. She _was_ aggravatingly stubborn, so she went out of bed the next day and now sat in the great armchair, basking in the warm sunlight streaming through the window in the Headmaster's living room. She looked far better than the previous day, so he wondered if their bond was not speeding on the healing. But he was not curious enough to ask, so Jasna kept her secrets. _For now._

He was leaning with crossed arms by the door and observing her. Her long hair was left free, looking better after a good wash and a bit of grooming, but it still lacked the lustre he knew women's hair usually held. She was far too pale too, but since he had seen colour on her cheeks only when her soul was smothering in rage, he dismissed any concern he could have felt at her pallor.

"Tonight, there is a welcoming feast for the students and teachers of Hogwarts," he informed her from his position. "As my new _wife_ you are expected to be present, but we can postpone the inevitable meeting with my staff until a later date…"

"From your tone, I understand, you are not keen on the meeting," Jasna remarked. She found it funny how he could tell so much with no words at all – or that she was able to read him so well all of a sudden. She had seen him after the meeting with his staff and knew what consequences the talk had on his temper. She had a feeling she would have found it easy to go on splendidly with the staff, if the circumstances were not such to demand she keep her husband alive and in good humour. The thought made her sigh silently to herself. She had absolutely no friends here and would be unable to make new ones since there was that Voldemort problem hanging around her neck, slowly squeezing her throat.

Severus Snape frowned at her, but even if she did not see his face, she heard the censure in his words "I would say they won't accept you with open arms… and I don't need to doctor you longer than necessary as it is," he said with a nasty bite. He implied that he would let her fend for herself and not play the protective husband, which was fine to her. She did not need him – at least not yet.

Jasna shook her head and turned it to the left to look at him, "I'll stay out of your battles and you out of mine - just as promised."

"They won't stay out of _your_ hair…no matter what I say or do," he remarked with cold eyes, but the remark told her she could find it harder to achieve her goals with a dozen of spies following her every step. She knew very well what they already thought of her simply because she was married to a Death Eater, but she could not tell them she was a prisoner – not if she wished to live. She cursed the necessary charade she had to play.

Jasna sighed softly and asked him with a voice tinged with weariness of her physical condition, "Are there any things I should be aware of? Rules, instructions, address, that are important?"

He nodded and explained some particularities of his staff, warning her about the Yaxleys, but she knew very well who would be a danger to her. If in doubt, she could always read him to get a feel of a situation. He was a closed man, but a few things betrayed him nonetheless. She was more apprehensive about the food and the atmosphere. How would children react to seeing a man who had murdered the previous Headmaster taking over the post? She did not have a good feeling about it and what that would mean for her. Fortunately, she had the castle and the runes on her side – she could deal with children easily enough – it was the staff which could turn out to be the problem.

Severus was concerned about the feast too. He knew what her views on dark magic and injustices were. What acting skills she had were not likely to fool anyone for long and sooner or later people would notice she was as white as it can get. And she knew of his betrayal – a danger on its own despite her good skills in warding her mind. She would be hauled before the Dark Lord soon enough again, he suspected.

Jasna's thoughts were following the same line and reasoning as his, but they were both blissfully unaware how alike they were in certain aspects. None of them trusted the other and both were determined to get what they desired; she a way back home and into the Temple, he atonement for past mistakes and peace. But their lives were now entwined with magical cords that were hard to be separated ever again – and magic itself had a will of its own. The wizard and witch who were now pawns in a game of power would have to learn to cooperate or face defeat. They both resented the idea and were determined to become masters of their own fate one way or the other – especially Severus Snape felt her presence to be a burden, while the priestess was far more pragmatic.

"As you have already mentioned the welcoming feast, I am in need of new robes," she informed him. She knew her usual garments would be inappropriate, but she was not prepared to be dressed up like an English witch when she was none. She had to make it clear she was different and therefore not to be tossed in the same Death Eater category. "I would like to have something to represent my home country," she told him, daring him with her eyes to disagree.

Severus quirked an eyebrow at her, "Let the house-elves supply you with appropriate attire," he said coldly and turned from the room. He really had no time to deal with robes – and the witch either.

Jasna just sighed and once again closed her eyes, letting the magic of the castle flow through her, basking in the comforting hold it had on her. She was feeling slightly angry at his dismissal, but put him out of her mind soon enough. She could already feel how change was coming to the school, how the energies were slowly moulding into something else with each mile the students came closer. New wards were erected, slumbering parts of the castle being awoken… and it was a fascinating thing to observe – so much that she could almost forget about her healing and the dire need of robes she was in.

"Better start now, than be late afterwards…" she muttered, knowing how much work had to be done, and summoned a house-elf that has been delegated to her. A trembling creature manifested beside her chair, greeting her in a high-pitched voice that fairly reeked with fear. Jasna once again had to wonder what those wizards were doing to the poor creatures to make them so afraid. She was fairly sure that the reputation of being a Death Eater's wife was already doing its damage, but she was loath to act the part to keep the cover. The elves won't talk – she was sure of it.

"Do you have dark blue silk or cotton in the castle? Enough for a dress?" she asked not unkindly, knowing she would achieve more when acting in control as the etiquette of the house-elves demanded. They did love to serve.

"Yes, mistress…" squeaked the house-elf, bowing many times so that its ears flapped against one side of its face then the other. "How may Tatty serve?"

"Bring me blue silk – enough for a witch's dress," she ordered. "I will also need some white ribbon and a small pot of glass beads, some white silk too… what lace you have, but none made by magic. Everything has to be hand-made – is that clear?"

"Yes, mistress… immediately, mistress," was the reply before the small creature disappeared for a few minutes, returning with more than enough to make three dresses. Jasna had to shake her head, but she thanked the elf for its prompt service, the being looking at her with wide eyes before it disappeared. When she unrolled the bundles, she found beautiful patterned cloth of good quality. No doubt, these were very expensive and she had to wonder why they even had it in the castle in the first place.

"Never mind that…" she muttered.

Even though she was not a priestess anymore, she was prepared to uphold the traditions and make her dress by herself. Some magic was allowed, but the stitches had to be made by hand. Since she knew how much she was capable of doing, she had decided upon a traditional Russian dress or something that would look like one – she did have only a few hours available. She will pull it over her everyday set of robes and still look presentable enough since the cloth was of good quality.

She smoothed her hand over it, getting the feel of the material before deciding which one to use. White ribbons, silver needles and silk threads were stored in a wooden box and she gladly took them out. It was just as she had it in mind – not too elaborate, but still formal enough for her taste. However, she had full intentions of donning her usual garbs as soon as possible. She would not hide her priestess status for long – just until she was healed again.

"Which just might not happen as soon as I would like…" she muttered, angry at the wizard she was bound to. He really did not understand how old magic worked at all. "I'll teach you eventually – you'll see…" she muttered then slowly moved into a comfortable position to start with her work.

After summoning a piece of parchment and a quill, she jotted down the numbers she remembered. Thinking about the design a bit and changing a few things, she was ready to start. Her room's door closed with a decisive click as soon as the scissors came to life and began to cut the cloth into appropriate shape.

Severus wouldn't know what hit him when he'll come to pick her up.


	17. The New Witch

**Chapter Seventeen: The New Witch**

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The clock chimed full hour. Severus Snape knew it was time to return to his chambers and change the regular black robes for more formal attire, but he was loath to leave his work half-finished, so he ignored the passing of time for another fifteen minutes until he put down the quill with a feeling resembling satisfaction even if there were loads of papers waiting for his attention on the next day. He could feel tension in his neck from bending over the table too much, and knew from years of experience that his temper would most likely be quite short. He almost regretted leaving the ill witch to her own devices when she had agreed to accompany him. She could very well sour his mood further and he really had no desire to start the hellish school year on the wrong foot – not that he could start it on the 'right' either.

The silence that greeted him as he stepped through the door made him wonder what was going on in her room, but he was not curious enough to enter her chamber. A quick wash and a change of clothes later, he knocked with determination, already eying the big clock proclaiming they would be late if they tarried. Hearing an invitation, he moved in with an equally determined step – only to freeze when he saw her back and then the reflection in the mirror.

The candles illuminating the room made the silk dress, adorned with glass beads and a bit of lace down the central line, the edges of the sleeves and the hem, look like a vision from an old Russian court. The big oval spanning across her chest and shoulders, fitting snugly around her neck, was decorated with the same materials as the dress, bringing something regal to her appearance. But it was the white silk scarf wrapped around her face, covering the bun at the back of her neck, and a small headpiece keeping it in place that really made him speechless. The paleness of her cheeks did not speak of illness and fatigue, but appeared to proclaim almost noble heritage.

At his clearing of the throat, she turned around, facing him, the same regal look on her face as in the reflection he saw. Her brown eyes pierced his and he could feel how the mark of the Temple tingled at the connection. Whatever she had done, some sort of magic was woven in the assemble she chose and Severus was determined to find out what until the end of the evening. He did not like secrets – even less if they were tied to the Temple.

"So, do I look presentable enough?" she asked, a teasing tone in her voice. Jasna knew she would be the centre of attention among the British wizards and witches. She could hardly wait to see their faces, to bask in the power of admiration. She needed that, she needed to feel strong again and if making witches jealous was the only way at the time to achieve it - she would do it. It was against Temple regulations to stimulate negative emotions, but she wanted to feel good and to make an impression – it would save her a lot of trouble later on, she believed.

Severus nodded tersely in an answer, but dared not open his mouth – he was not completely sure whether he would be able to keep inside the words that would surely get her good mood down a few pegs. Self-satisfied witches were one of his pet peeves and he definitely did not like the feeling he got when she was in a good mood. It did always bode something unpleasant in the past. Yet, he did not wish to start the long evening with an argument. Therefore he stiffly offered his arm to her, intent on getting to the hall as quickly as possible and the introductions over with.

It was almost in no time at all that they stood before the side entrance to the Great hall. The walk was silent since both of them had been preparing for the meeting, donning perfected masks to hide their true emotions. There was still silence reigning in the corridors as they halted their progress, but the first sounds of human voices were heard in the hall. Minerva's voice was heard over the murmur of other professors' voices, loudly proclaiming she would not greet the 'witch'.

Both knew who was meant and the proclamation made Severus' lips twitch a bit. The witch in question was not amused and thought such rash judgements to be faulty, but was slowly preparing herself to become accustomed to hostility. It seemed the wizard was right after all and she would have absolutely no friends here. That made her heart clench a bit, but she squared her shoulders (a painful twinge reminding her to take it easy) and nudged Severus to move forward. He just quirked an eyebrow at her eagerness to step into the lion's den and purposefully opened the door before him. The conversations ceased as if someone had turned the sound to mute.

Jasna saw a small group gathered around a stern-looking witch who turned her cold eyes upon her companion. It was clear her husband too had no allies here or someone would have greeted them by now. An almost silent sound of irritation escaped her throat, making her companion squeeze her hand harder in an unmistakable warning.

"Good evening," he greeted, leading her closer to the table. Her eyes were drawn to the enchanted ceiling of the hall, so she almost missed how the eyes of the professors filled with hatred, animosity or distrust as they gazed at the Headmaster, but she could not miss the moment they turned to her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to stop a comment from escaping. She did not like their instant dislike – not at all! _What in Perun's name is going on here?! What have I done to you?_

Various greetings were returned, but it was clear nobody thought this evening would turn out to bring any good and she almost started to believe it herself. Then the first person stepped closer to her in order to exchange greetings as custom demanded – it was the small professor Flitwick.

"Dobry vechar (Good evening)," he greeted her in her mother tongue, bowing before her. She had to blink to hide the tears that had sprung to her eyes. It felt so good to hear her language again, even if it was spoken with a slight accent. It was weeks since she had someone to talk to in Russian.

"Dobry vechar to you too," she replied, bowing her head since Severus still held her hand in a grip. She liked the small professor – she could see he was wary of Severus, but he was not so quick to dismiss her as a lost cause too.

From then on followed the introductions, none of them as kind as the first one. Minerva McGonagall's was almost frosty, but it did not even compare to the greeting she got from the two Death Eaters on staff. She could feel her skin crawl even when Severus led her to her seat at his left side. They were disgusting people and their insinuations, hidden taunts and hopes of corruption made her sick to her stomach. And they chose the right moment too – Severus was not at her side then, but he materialised soon after she managed to escape their attention, pale and slightly shaking. She was more than grateful for the seat and a glass of wine.

At least with the Head of Ravenclaw there was a possibility of cooperation. He seemed to know more than he let on, if his quick look at her right hand was what she thought it was – a search for the seal of the temple she served at. It had flickered to life for but a second when she touched the surface of the old table which practically brimmed with runes. It seemed he had waited for the moment, but the confirmation he got only made his eyebrows furrow with more questions. She knew he would not ask anything as long as she was in Severus' presence, but he would watch her closely. A priestess in the hands of Death Eaters – it must have scared him, but he nonetheless began a tentative conversation with her that was mostly centred on the school and his profession.

Severus did not seem to mind Flitwick, but he made sure to keep her away from the Carrows in such a subtle manner she was sure nobody noticed. _Yet_, she reminded herself, _but he won't be able to do so for long_. She feared them at the moment when she was wholly dependant on Snape to protect her, but she imagined the tables would turn soon enough on them. How the founders of the magical school have managed to hide their enchantments so deftly she didn't know, but the table was a magnificent piece of magic that made the castle cooperate, or not, with you. She was guaranteed almost total compliance and that put her in a better mood soon enough.

"Where did you receive your education?" asked Prof. Sinistra who seemed to follow Flitwick's example when Minerva and three other teachers left to fetch the children.

"I was taught about magical flora and fauna by my mother, but was given to a temple for further schooling by the age of six," Jasna truthfully replied. Schooling at temples started at the age of ten and even then children lived at home, so gasps were heard from the people who knew what that meant for her – she had been abandoned, disinherited. Why? Even she could not tell.

"I'm very sorry to hear this," said Prof. Flitwick who seemed to put more pieces of the puzzle together.

"Don't be – I was very happy there," she replied and took a sip of wine again. "I can't imagine my life being any different – the temple became my family and I was glad to join their ranks once I was old enough. It seemed the right thing to do," she replied.

"But now you belong to us," butted in Alecto with a smirk playing on her lips. "Our own pet priestess…" she mocked, knowing that Jasna could do nothing against her. The priestess clenched the goblet with a pale-knuckled hand, anger and humiliation boiling in her. How she loathed being a captive of such a disgusting group.

"Enough!" cried Snape and the Death Eater shrank back. "You will not speak to my wife in that tone!" he declared, but was cut short as the great doors opened and the first students streamed in – in a smaller number than any year before. He gave the woman one last angry look then concentrated on the students. The professors followed his example, Flitwick storing the additional information for later perusal, but believing there was more at large than he thought.

Jasna just hoped the evening would go by quickly or she would be seriously tempted to do something foolish to get away.

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**A/N: Sorry for the delay - I had to translate a few things these days, so I haven't managed to post thins in a while... I feel quite guilty for it... **


	18. Darkness

**A/N: I've been ill this week, but I'm finally getting better, so here's a new update. I'll hopefully have another chapter done next week too. It seems my muse is happy with me for the moment. I just hope it stays so. :D Thanks to those who left a note or two - I always enjoy hearing from you even if I may not have the time to respond back. **

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Chapter Eighteen: Darkness

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The students were observing the sorting, but many a glance was focused on the brightest spot at the teachers' table. The mysterious witch sitting at the Death Eater Headmaster was an enigma to most of the students save few whose parents had informed them what to expect. But even they were stunned by the sight of the regal witch and the way her face appeared to be carved out of marble. It did not take them long, however, for spreading the information until it reached every table. By the end of the subdued feast the last student knew she was a priestess.

The Gryffindors soon came to the conclusion she belonged to the black priestesses the legends told of (seeing as she was married to Snape), but in truth there had been no dark priestess for over a thousand of years. Unfortunately, that did not stop them from spreading the information further and the younger children readily accepted it as the truth. Nobody would listen to Ravenclaws pointing out the error - a rumour from the Gryffindors was enough in these times to be regarded evil. Thus Jasna was branded before anyone had the chance to truly observe or get to know her.

When the feast was over and the students had to retire to their dorms, the remaining teachers at the table slowly stood up and went to their quarters, many happy to be far away from the Death Eaters. Jasna remained sitting until even the Carrows disappeared; only a nod a necessary acknowledgment of their departure. A silent sigh escaped her when the hall emptied.

"That went well, don't you think," she asked him not truly expecting an answer. She had felt the darkness gather in both of them with every minute spent among so much negative emotions spinning around the room, sinking into the stones. The students had been apprehensive about this year, but in the end the only eyes she felt look at her were filled with hate. Were she a weaker person, she would have given up her plans of escaping this place altogether. But she had gritted her teeth against such thoughts and pushed away the dark magic even when it ate away at what little energy she had. At least her garment acted as a thin buffer against so much negative energy. There truly was magic in handmade things after all.

Snape's shadow fell over her suddenly and a pale long-fingered hand appeared at her right side. He had guessed correctly that she was far too tired to manage walking to their chambers, let alone find the way and protect herself from any surprises. He had felt her battle, but was in no position to interfere. She was sure both their faces must have been made of stone which did nothing to comfort the children, but she did not have control over her magic yet. It irked that she was unable to be herself though.

"Thank you," she said distractedly as he pulled her up, but her voice came out weaker than she expected. Snape was mildly worried about that but he decided to let her get a good night's rest before making any judgements. He took the shortest way to their quarters, not bothering to point things out since she was too tired to remember – he would teach her some other day as he really had neither desire nor time to be her personal guide.

"Is there anything I should know of my duties as your wife?" she asked him at her room's door. "What the staff and students expect of me?" she clarified.

"Be present at the meals, otherwise remain out of sight for now," he told her not unkindly. "We will soon see what changes will be necessary." She nodded in consent and softly closed the door when the house-elf appeared to take care of her change of dress.

Snape stood there a moment longer before he turned in the direction of his office with resolution darkening his eyes. Dumbledore had many books about temples and their guardians in the more secret corners of his extensive library and Severus intended to find out more about her – specifically things he did not already know about her magic. He had a niggling feeling it was very important he researched more about her now that he actually had time for it. After all, he could always catch up on sleep some other day.

If only he knew what would happen in the morning, he would have gone to bed instead. Unfortunately he was busy pouring over old texts in his office until the clock chimed it was breakfast time and therefore missed Jasna on her way to the Great hall. So, the weakened priestess wandered the corridors alone – a prey for the more vindictive population of the school.

With the helpful instructions from her personal house-elf Tatty she knew in which direction to go, but the fluctuating magical energies were distracting her and she missed more than one turn in the maze that was Hogwarts. A bit put out by that fact and also feeling slightly stupid to let her pride get the better of her, she cursed under her breath the wizard who did not show up at the appropriate time to guide her to the hall thus forcing her to attempt this on her own.

Another slightly darker corridor brought her closer to her destination but also into the heart of danger. Students were hurrying to arrive on time since new rules made that mandatory.

The upper Slytherins nodded to her and she returned the greeting cordially, knowing she was close to her destination. But that action sealed her fate in the eyes of one determined and bitter sixth-year Gryffindor who had sought shelter from the Snakes in a dark niche. In a move that was neither premeditated nor rationalised he decided to hex her when she would move past his hiding spot. His anger at the position he found himself in and the world in general made it easy to act rashly. _If she was a dark priestess she deserved it_, he parroted some of his mates.

Jasna had decided to let the Slytherin students move forward and follow after a moment to keep distance from them. She was not stupid enough to think they would treat her better than the Death Eaters – they all had their roles to play and the faces and murmurs at the feast were one disappointment too much. Yet there was also another reason for dallying – she felt rather ill from the strenuous walk. The portrait of an old witch was very interested in her, so Jasna decided to talk to it for a few minutes.

_Maybe that is the perfect moment to find a place for my rituals, _she thought.

Just a minute or two into the conversation her magical core started acting up - the darkness pushing to the surface. It puzzled and alarmed her. _What is going on? What is this supposed to mean, by Zorya?_

Then it happened. Just a moment before the painful hex hit her in the shoulder blade, she sensed the dark intent, but it was too late. A red mark appeared on her skin through the layers of cloth, making her let out a short scream of pain and surprise. The burning sensation did not cease, but only intensified as the darker magic got out of her control.

A red haze fell over her eyes as it greedily fed on the hex, intensifying it and ripping control of her magical core from her hands as her concentration shattered. Somehow she dimly registered Snape's surprise and alarm as he suffered from the backlash too. But the sensation was pushed aside by the alarming events just playing out. She could feel how an invisible dark fire gathered around her, the dark magic scorching the floors with runes of protection that were her magic's instinctual response at the threat, but perverting them at the same time into something sinister she could not control.

She whirled around, her empty gaze fixed upon the hidden student who had attacked her with the painful hex.

"By Morana, run if you value your life," she hissed at him in rage at his foolishness. The dark magic flowed from her in waves, chilling the air in the corridor sufficiently to make her breath appear in small white puffs. He did not budge as he did not recognize the danger he was in.

"What are you waiting for you idiot?!" she screeched. This made him appear reluctantly from his niche, but not leave the corridor. He still held his wand in a white-knuckled grip, but dared not cast again even if the witch had not yet drawn her wand.

"Of all the foolish…" she muttered through clenched teeth, her eyes tinting black. "GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

The first of the scones on the wall burst in a fantastical display of power that scared the cowering sixth-year sufficiently to make him run as if a manticore were after him. She sank to the ground and started the battle. However, the walls filled with centuries old magic made it harder to gain control again. She could feel the rebuilt strands strain under the pressure but they held strong with the help of the dark wizard who was running to her help at the very moment.

Taking hold of the veil covering her hair, she ripped it off and the pins holding it in a bun – long dark strands pooled around her as she started to chant silently. Her eyes were almost completely black by then. She could hold the magic inside the corridor, but was unable to do more without more time or help. It was too strong and she felt how the remnants of the Dark Lord's mark wanted to come alive again.

Jasna hoped nobody would enter the corridor until she got the situation under control, but it was to no avail. A group of first year Ravenclaws entered muttering about the cold only to freeze as the dark magic grabbed at them and started pulling them inside the circle of runes.

"No!" Jasna cried out in fright, reaching out with her hand to protect them. "Morana! Not the children!" she cried.

A pale white light managed to manifest on the stone floor only just fast enough to make a barrier for them. Then she lost the power to fight and her consciousness. Falling to the cold floor, she could only hope help would reach them in time.


End file.
